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half-bakedboy · 3 years

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when you’re not listening (read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “You don’t want to kiss me, Buck.”

“How do you know that?” Buck shot back. He would realize later that he never denied her accusation. He stared her down almost desperately and saw more sympathy in her eyes than he liked. It made him feel vulnerable and he hated wearing his heart on his sleeve with anyone, especially Taylor.

“Because you’re just going to wish it was him and neither of us deserves that."

A Season 4 Episode 12: Treasure Hunt Fix It (contains spoilers for the ep)

There was no doubt in Buck’s mind that Taylor Kelly was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life. She had those big blue eyes that Buck could compare to skies and oceans with the little specks of green that were scattered through them, and her hair was brighter than most of the fires Buck had put out in his line of work. She was smart, cunning, and witty and she could put Buck in his place with a raise of her eyebrow or a single well-formed word on her perfectly lined lips.

Buck was leaning in before he could think about what he was doing, the double shots of tequila already thrumming through his veins and dizzying his head just enough for all coherent thought to disappear. She was complaining about something — someone — that was related to the treasure hunt they had teamed up to try and figure out for the last few days and was seemingly not paying attention to the way Buck moved closer to her.

She never paid attention to him the way he did her. He wondered if she thought he was pretty; if she ever compared his hair to a sandy beach that led to the ocean that was his eyes. He wondered if she ever took a second to think about what adjectives she would use to describe Buck. Would she call him intelligent? Lovable? Stupid? Sarcastic? Annoying? Exhausting?

He shook his head to focus his mind and eyes back on Taylor who was scanning the map in front of her like it held all the answers. Buck knew it didn’t have any for him. It was just another way for him to keep his life exciting and hold those around him even closer. He got to spend the last few days with his best friends and he wondered if they cared as much as he did. He figured Eddie did and that thought alone had a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What does Eddie do?” Taylor asked, breaking him out of his haze.

“He’s a firefighter…” Buck explained slowly because Taylor must have hurt herself looking for all the clues or something. She smacked him on the arm.

“You were rambling - which we will talk about more in a second - but then you stopped, got this goofy smile on your face, and said, ‘Eddie does.’” Buck blushed. He could blame it on the alcohol, but they both knew that wasn’t it.

“How much of my internal monologue did you hear?” He asked instead, resting both hands on the table as far apart as they could go so he had a little space between him and Taylor.

“Well, I heard you think about trying to kiss me which you quickly convinced yourself off of. Thank god, too, cause I didn’t wanna have to deny you again.” Before Buck could argue, she gave him a look that shut him up almost as quickly as Athena’s did. “Then I think you were scrolling through a thesaurus in your head? Then you talked about the treasure hunt and then, as usual, you stopped thinking at all because of Eddie.”

“What do you mean as usual?” Buck asked. He probably should’ve been embarrassed that she had knocked him down so many pegs with just a few sentences, but he was more interested in why she was looking at him like he was an idiot.

“We’ll get to that,” Taylor said, waving her hand in dismissal.

“This isn’t the news, Taylor, you can just tell me what’s going on instead of teasing it for the ten o’clock story,” Buck complained, sliding his hands across the table until a pin pricked his skin sharply.

“We’ve known each other for a little bit of time now, yeah?” Taylor asked, resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezing. He glanced up at her and nodded. “So you could say that I know you pretty well considering?”

Buck nodded again and agreed, “Considering I can count the number of people that do on one hand, yeah.”

“So will you trust me when I say what I have to say?” Who was Buck to argue with her when she stared at him with too much sympathy in her eyes. She rested a hand on Buck’s cheek and began, “You are inquisitive and always searching out new information even if it’s unimportant. You’re impassioned about everything you do in life. You’re absolutely ridiculous in every sense of the word. You’re sensitive and captivating and endearing and reliable and trustworthy and thoughtful, and—”

Buck leaned in to kiss her. He didn’t have to think about it because, after everything she had said, he knew she must feel the same as he had the last few days. But then his lips met her cheek and her hand smacked over the small bubble of laughter that escaped her mouth.

“I was going to say impulsive next,” Taylor noted as she glanced up at Buck again, leaning back as if she was scared he would try to make another move.

“God, I’m so sorry, I’m— You just said all of those things, and I just got carried away and—”

“Who said those were my words?” Taylor noted easily, maintaining eye contact even as Buck furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“I am way too buzzed to play this game right now, Taylor,” Buck said, pulling his hands away from Taylor’s waist and backing away.

“Have you ever heard the way Eddie speaks about you?” Taylor asked before he could get too far away.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Buck said honestly. Sure, he knew they were best friends and he knew how he spoke of Eddie, but he had always assumed that Eddie never talked about him. He was a man of few words and Buck wasn’t sure why any of them would be wasted on him.

“I’ve spent all of twenty-four hours being the third wheel attached to the fine-tuned engine that is Buck and Eddie. While you were off finding more clues and gathering information, Eddie was telling me all about how lucky I was to have someone as impassioned and sensitive and reliable and thoughtful and selfless and—”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Buck said, blushing deeper when he thought of Eddie saying those things about him. He wasn’t sure why his stomach chose to flutter in excitement or why his heart sped up just a little quicker than necessary.

“He never mentioned that you were oblivious, though, but I’m assuming that’s because he’s just as bad,” Taylor noted, staring Buck down like he was a news story she couldn’t wait to crack. Buck said nothing and avoided her eyes at all costs, staring down at the hole in his sweater and wishing he could disappear into it.

“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with us,” Buck relented, turning back toward Taylor and crossing his arms over his chest. “We make a great team and we could be even better if we just—” He stalked forward again, sighing when Taylor’s hands rested on his chest and patted gently.

“You don’t want to kiss me, Buck.”

“Because you’re just going to wish it was him and neither of us deserves that,” Taylor said softly, trailing a hand to cup Buck’s cheek, sliding her thumb comfortingly across his cheekbone. Buck leaned into it, relenting to the softness and allowing himself for one moment to be happy that he had a friend like Taylor.

“There’s a really narrow line between friends and… more,” Buck stated with a defeated huff of laughter. Taylor froze and glanced down at the map before smirking up at Buck.

“I know where the treasure is.”

----------------------------------

Eddie could be described as many things, but currently, the only word he could think of was jealous. His skin was still crawling from witnessing the easy way Buck and Taylor interacted, reading each other’s minds like they were the same damn person and smiling at each other like they had cracked a secret code while Eddie tagged along. He was still a little pissed that Buck had decided to go to Taylor first - over Eddie - to search for the stupid treasure in the first place.

He wasn’t even interested in finding the five million dollars. Although it would be nice to provide some wiggle room for whatever Christopher wanted to do in the future, he didn’t need it. What he had wanted was to spend some time with Buck and really figure out the feelings that were suddenly clouding his mind whenever he so much as looked at his best friend. Spending a few days doing a ridiculous task with Buck seemed like the perfect excuse to try to figure out where the sudden urge to break up with his girlfriend in favor of pursuing a relationship with his best friend came from.

Then Taylor Kelly happened. He was sure everyone in the firehouse was increasingly aware of the way his lips turned down and his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at the mere mention of her name or how seeing her ridiculous(ly beautiful) face on the television made him want to ban Buck from using electronics again. He didn’t think it would slide, though, because for some reason, Buck liked her and that was enough of a punch to the gut to have Eddie scrubbing down his dinner dishes furiously in the sink.

When the knock at his door sounded, he slammed the plate he had been over cleaning into the sink, taking a deep breath before turning toward the door. That last person he expected to see was Buck leaning against the doorframe with an almost concerned smirk on his face.

“What did your dishware ever do to you?” He asked, swinging his keys around his finger. Eddie saw the bright red cap on the key that belonged to his home and regretted giving it to Buck for just a moment. He would have given anything to be able to prepare himself for Buck to be in front of him considering, well, everything.

“He had it coming. I can’t prove it, but I think he was conspiring with the forks,” Eddie responded, shrugging his shoulders. Buck laughed and all of the pent-up anxiety drained from Eddie’s body.

“I’m sure you’ll get a confession out of him sooner or later,” Buck said, resting his head against the frame and licking his lips. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he would think that Buck looked a little sad or even… nervous.

“I thought you were getting together with Taylor tonight to drown your sorrows?” Eddie asked. He couldn’t help himself. The entire reason he’d been angry all night in the first place was because he knew Buck was hanging out with her. Eddie glanced at the clock and saw it was almost midnight. It didn’t make sense that Buck had shown up at all, especially with how late it was.

“We did a little drowning. Turns out I’m more of a lightweight on tequila than I thought.” Eddie narrowed his eyes and Buck clearly knew why he was suddenly angry. “Taylor got me an uber. I didn’t drive here,” Buck defended, holding up his hands in surrender.

“And why are you here? Not that you’re not welcome, I just figured you’d be spending the night with your—”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Buck interrupted, clearly exasperated at the accusation. Eddie wasn’t sure whether to let the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips grow and risk his obvious pleasure at the secondary confirmation. “She figured out where the treasure is.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “She found it and you’re here? Buck, why aren’t you with her to get it?” Eddie asked, stalking toward the door to slip on his shoes and grab his keys. Buck’s hand on his arm slowed him down and when he glanced at Buck, he had that soft smile on his face that Eddie was grateful to recognize as one of his Diaz-specific looks.

“If I’m gonna find five million dollars worth of treasure, it’s not gonna be with her,” Buck said simply. Eddie felt his stomach flutter and that jealous heat that surged through him turned down to a simmer as Buck stared down at him.

“Yeah?” Eddie said because he wasn’t sure how else to respond. It was a simple statement but it held the entire universe to Eddie and he wondered if Buck realized that.

“The way I see it,” Buck began, stroking his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand, “we have two choices. One, we go get the treasure and split it between the four of us; you, me, Taylor, and Paul.”

“Paul?”

“The cameraman. Does no one know his name?” Buck asked, shaking his head as if to bring himself back to the subject.

“And number two?” Eddie asked, staring down at the hand that held his so delicately. Buck slid a finger from his free hand underneath Eddie’s chin to force their eye contact and Eddie would never be able to explain away the audible gulp or the way his face reddened at the intensity of Buck’s gaze.

“Or two, we stay here and finally have that conversation you seem to be having with everyone else besides me,” Buck noted, narrowing his eyes knowingly. Eddie groaned and pulled his hand away, only marginally upset by the loss of contact. Buck’s laughter rang through the air again and Eddie wasn’t as comforted by it that time around.

“Seriously? Was I that obvious?” Eddie asked, sending a pleased glance in Buck’s direction.

“It was Taylor that really convinced me. I was feeling sorry for myself and I tried to put the moves on her—”

“You what—?” Eddie interrupted only to be waved off by Buck.

“Lapse of judgment on my part, but it’s not important. What is important,” Buck took a deep breath and with each word moved a little closer, “is that I think you’re incredible. You’re good-hearted and loyal, kind and full of forgiveness even when I clearly don’t deserve it. You love your son more than anything in this world and don’t care who knows it. You’re… everything? And I’m not sure why it took me so long—”

Eddie leaned in to kiss him.

He wasn’t thinking, hadn’t been for the last few days of anything besides that moment where their lips might touch and all of the pieces of Eddie’s life would slot into place. Kissing Buck felt like finally taking a sip of water or dipping his body into the ocean after the hottest day of the summer and touching him, holding Buck’s face in his hands steadied him so much, he wasn’t sure he had ever been so balanced. There was five million dollars waiting for him somewhere in L.A. but Eddie couldn’t bring himself to care about it. Nothing was worth more than finally having Buck exactly how he had dreamed. When Buck pulled away, the grin on his lips was enough for Eddie to realize that everything was going to be okay; more than okay.

The next day when he sat around the lunch table with his new family surrounding him, he could only focus on the way Buck caught his eye from across the table and the nudge of his foot against Eddie’s when they thought no one was paying attention. He was sure the smiles and soft looks they gave each other were anything but subtle. It was Taylor that surprised him. She raised her eyebrows at Eddie, her eyes darting between the two men carefully as if asking if her secret plan had worked. Eddie nodded, smiling widely as he mouthed her a thank you.

It wasn’t enough just to thank her but it was a start and he had more important things to focus on. Eddie glanced back at the most important thing--Buck.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #911 #911 on fox #911 spoilers #911 fic #911 coda fic #my writing #this was supposed to be a quick one #but almost 3k later #OOOOPS #hope you like it!! <3

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tobinheath · 4 years

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Leah Williamson and Keira Walsh have shared enough “written in the stars” moments in their 23 years to make them feel that they were fated to be best friends. Since meeting on an England Under-15s camp, their football careers have played out with a striking, almost eerie, similarity. They each play for their childhood clubs — Williamson for Arsenal, Walsh for Manchester City — and have a knack of picking up the same injuries at the same time.

They both received their first senior call-up on the same day in 2017. The 2019 World Cup was their first senior England tournament: they called each other to celebrate even before they called their parents, which resulted in Williamson shrieking “bloody hell — what have we done here?” in tears outside a London branch of Nando’s.

Most memorably, Williamson made her England debut coming on for Walsh, in the final six minutes of a World Cup qualifier against Russia in 2018. “My mum’s just framing my shirt, pestering me for that picture,” Williamson says.

Walsh interrupts, giddily. “I think that’s the only time I’ve actually done a full-teeth smile. I was so buzzing.”

“Yeah,” remembers Williamson, “because I was game faced, and you proper smiled at me and I went…” before jerking her mouth into a tight-lipped, nervous smile, chuckling.

“If it was anyone else,” Walsh picks up, “I’d have been, like: ‘I don’t want to come off’. But as soon as I saw it was Leah, I was buzzing.”

This is life at the top for two of England’s most talented young players: phenomenal success and too many good memories to count.

Today, best friends will turn opponent and they will face each other in the Women’s Super League (WSL) for the first time this season — hosts Manchester City are fourth, four points behind second-placed Arsenal — with Williamson pointing out that in a pre-COVID-19 world, she would have stayed after the match with Walsh’s family in Rochdale, where Walsh’s mother Tracy is “just like my mum”.

Over the hour they spent together on Zoom, they are gloriously good fun: warm, ebullient and habitually careering into laughter. They balance each other out, Walsh says: she is “shy and awkward” — though you would not know it here — and Williamson is the “buffer” in certain situations, and the more “logical” one of the two. Williamson views Walsh as the honest one, sometimes brutally so. “I have to step in sometimes and give it a smile and keep it balanced,” she says. “If I play a game and I’m not actually sure how it went, I would text Keira, because I know I’d get the most honest answer from anybody, even if that means it’s not what I want to hear. I think that is where the respect comes from.”

To track the pair’s football careers has been to often forget how young they are. Walsh made her City debut a few months after her 17th birthday and in November this year, Williamson played her 150th game for Arsenal. It is common for those in women’s football to grow up fast but in conversation, one is reminded of the duo’s gleeful, wonderful youth. There was the time, for instance, they rented electric scooters one afternoon at the World Cup in France to explore with Walsh’s Manchester City team-mate Georgia Stanway. The room-mates — Stanway with Williamson, Walsh with Lucy Bronze — had a group chat titled “The three best friends and Lucy”. Stanway, the youngest England player at the tournament, sped ahead on her scooter and they had to “rein her back in”, Williamson says.

“You were being a bit of a Cautious Claire, weren’t you?” teases Walsh, turning to Williamson, “probably as you should do at a World Cup. I think we were just enjoying being kids, weren’t we? Obviously, we were playing, and the reason we were there was to win, but we have so much free time that we were just enjoying being the younger ones.”

“All the older ones… that’s what they kept saying to us,” says Williamson. “Kaz Carney was like: ‘Make sure you enjoy your time now, because hopefully one day you will be the senior ones and there’ll be a lot more pressure on you. Just have the best time ever, make as many memories as possible. Jill Scott — I mean, she was a bit more wild than we are — said she’s got some of the best memories ever from those early tournaments and she wished she could do it again. I don’t think we wanted to waste a second.”

Do not presume, though, that the pair are anything other than serious competitors. By 20, Walsh had won every domestic title going: the WSL, FA Cup and League Cup. Williamson has won the league once, the FA Cup twice and the League Cup twice, finishing as runner-up in the latter to Walsh’s City in 2019. Walsh, an artful holding midfielder in the mould of Sergio Busquets — she grew up watching clips of him and David Silva with her father — will be among the most important players in the England squad moving forward and Williamson, capped 17 times, is touted as a future England captain.

It has not always been easy, though. An early test came in the form of Williamson’s ankle injury, sustained playing for Arsenal against Walsh’s Blackburn Rovers in the FA Youth Cup final. It was so traumatic Walsh admits there are still occasions she will search for Williamson’s results, see her friend has come off and think, “Please tell me it’s not her ankles again. My mum mentions it to me. She’ll say: ‘Did you see Leah came off?’” She addresses Williamson. “Because I’ve seen you in person do it, I feel like I automatically panic. When I see you at camp two weeks later, you’re like: ‘Maybe I was being a bit soft when I came off — it’s nothing to do with my ankles’. But I know what you’ve been through with them, so it is the first thing I think about.”

Williamson, in her own words, “basically just snapped my ankle and everything in it” after misplanting her foot. Stretcher, gas and air, a wheelchair, a doctor advising her to go straight to hospital. “I’m trying to fight back the tears and she’s nearly crying looking at me as well,” Williamson remembers. She stayed at the game because Arsenal had lost the season prior and she wanted to collect her winner’s medal.

“I think I played most of the game thinking, ‘I just hope she’s OK’,” says Walsh. “The only thing I actually remember from that game — not the goals or anything — was afterwards, I saw Leah on the side in a wheelchair with an Arsenal bobble hat on, having to wheel herself on to get her winner’s medal.”

A few months on from Williamson’s injury, Walsh damaged her ankle ligaments — it was an impact injury, and on her laptop, Williamson has pictures of her and Walsh “in wheelchairs at different times”. Walsh collected her second ankle injury at a training camp in La Manga, by which point Williamson’s ankles had betrayed her again. “We were both sat on the bench laughing because it was just crazy luck that we’d both done it again,” Walsh smiles. “I knew I couldn’t sit there feeling sorry for myself next to you.”

During their separate rehabilitation processes, they maintained the habit of visiting each other as often as they could. Their close friendship meant they were never allowed to share a room on international duty to ensure they didn’t isolate themselves from the rest of the group. Walsh was the class clown and Williamson the captain, meaning that “Leah would always get told off for me. They’d always be like: ‘Leah! You need to tell Keira she needs to be a bit more professional!’”

What it all meant was they had lost time to make up elsewhere. Each Christmas, Walsh would come to London from Rochdale and Williamson’s mother Amanda “would treat us to something from Jack Wills. That was like an annual little thing that we did, because I don’t think that I’d ever heard of Jack Wills, being from the north, until I met all these southerners at camp that used to wear it. I think I actually used to go down to see Amanda more than you, to be honest.”

What did they think of each other when they first met?

“You first,” says Williamson.

“No — you go,” Walsh replies.

“I’m going to big you up here,” Williamson begins. “Keira’s always been… she was always one of the best there, and you always want to be mates with the good ones.”

Walsh returns the favour: “I think I was quite jealous of you when you first came because everyone was like: ‘She’s amazing. I was thinking, I want to be amazing, as well, so I want to be friends with her.”

“That’s good, that we both thought the same thing.”

“There you go, then. That’s why we’re friends.”

“I’d say I’m your fangirl, Keira. I’m your hype man.”

Walsh has always been Williamson’s biggest supporter — “when you scored your first goal for England, I think I was happier for you than I would have been if I’d scored” — but probably has good reason to worry about Williamson calling herself a hype man. Before the World Cup, Williamson visited Cex, the second-hand goods chain, and spent £50 on some DJ decks to master during downtime at the tournament.

“I just looked across the corridor and I was like, ‘What is that noise? I’m sure that’s Leah’s room’,” Walsh recalls. “I opened the door and you had these big headphones on, mixing the decks. I saw Georgia just lying on the bed and I was like, ‘What is going on in here?’ They had the balcony door open and you were like: ‘Wait for the drop. Wait for the drop’. I was like: ‘OK – I’ll wait for the drop. You like your music, you are good with music and you actually might be very good. I trust you’. And the drop just never came.”

Williamson hoots with laughter. “Never came. I thought it would be so much easier than it was. It was so hard.” She shakes her head, jokingly rueful. “Massive flop. Massive flop.”

“I feel like you just try your hand at loads of random stuff,” continues Walsh. “I see you on camp and you’re like: ‘I’m doing the harmonica now’.”

Williamson says she has “found her calling” playing the piano in lockdown, but Walsh is unimpressed. “It’s just you try to give off this cool vibe and I feel like people don’t really know you. It just makes me laugh. What have you got — a lightsaber pen? And Star Wars pyjamas? People would just not think that. When you see the exterior of Leah, you would just think, ‘No – not Star Wars’. She’s done all these photoshoots, she’s dead cool, and then she just whacks out the craziest stuff and just makes me laugh.”

Williamson holds up her hands. “It’s true. I can’t deny it.”

The World Cup was particularly testing for Walsh, for whom fierce social media criticism left her questioning whether she wanted to continue to play football. Walsh has spoken numerous times about the impact on her confidence, but what was it like for Williamson, who did not feature as much as Walsh, to witness? She pauses. “I think it’s hard,” she begins, “because you just feel so powerless when you’re not playing. It’s not even like I can go on the pitch and have a shocker to save her from the criticism,” she laughs. “If I tell Keira she’s great, there’s a slight bit of her that’s… I’m her best mate, so I’m going to try and pick her up as much as possible.

“The main thing, especially from a squad perspective, is that we all know how valuable Keira is to us and how — I’m bigging you up here — she’s the centre of what we’re doing as a team. It just annoys me. I wish I could eradicate all those other people because we, as a team, appreciate her so much. That’s all I ever said to Keira – if anybody was picking a team, you’d be the first name on the teamsheet. But it’s hard to get… like I say, I’m her best mate, so I’m honest with her, but at the same time, she probably needed to hear that a little bit more.”

They didn’t talk about it so much, Walsh says. “Because you weren’t playing, I didn’t want to put that on you because I felt like it would be selfish,” she adds. “I thought, at the time: you know what? We’ll just make the best of it off the pitch, and I think that’s why we had such a good time.” Williamson’s first appearance, from the bench in the round-of-16 match against Cameroon, changed Walsh’s perspective “because I was just so happy for you that I didn’t care what people would say about me at that moment. People could say whatever they wanted because I’ve just played in a World Cup with my best friend. Not many people can say that.”

To be best friends, as professional athletes, is a balancing act: in any other walk of life, they would — could — rage at each other, moan, weep, get angry. As professional footballers, they are wary of distracting the other. “I know what you want to achieve, so my problems taking a back seat is fine with me if I know you’re going on to achieve what you want to achieve,” Walsh tells Williamson.

To Sunday, then, and what will happen when two best friends turn competitors for 90 minutes. Walsh smirks. “I feel like you try and keep a really focused head, and then I’ll just be like…” she cups her hands for a high-pitched whisper and springs up like a Jack in a box. “’Leah!’” Williamson rollicks back with laughter. “Then she’ll turn around and she’ll start laughing, but I do it because I know she’s going to laugh and I know that she’s trying to focus. I feel like I’m a lot more relaxed than you. You’re like, ‘Game face, game head, here we go’, and you just have that annoying friend in the background.”

Stanway is the worst, apparently, to the point where Walsh and Williamson will intervene — Williamson with a stern “we’re not having that today” when Stanway inevitably flattens her early doors. “We always text each other a couple of days, speak to each other earlier on in the week before we play each other,” says Williamson of her and Walsh.

“In the game and stuff, we have our little tiffs, and if I say something and she doesn’t agree with it, we’re both playing for the win, and we both understand that,” Walsh concludes, “but then afterwards, we’re straight over to each other.”

She starts to sign off, but Williamson beats her to it. “See you Sunday,” they chorus, in unison.

#leah williamson #keira walsh #lionesses #arsenal wfc #mcwfc

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wexhappyxfew · 3 years

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The Sun Will Always Rise || Ronald Speirs

inspired by a quote from Ruta Sepetys’ book, Between Shades of Grey ~ ❛you stand for what is right, without the expectation of gratitude or reward. ❜

Happy HBO War Secret Santa 2020! I can’t believe the time has officially arrived and to say I am beyond excited for this lil Ronald Speirs imagine I cooked up, is an understatement. This is for @incorrectbandofbrothersquotes , for Kelsey!! It’s not as much of a Christmas theme, more of a snowy, wintry theme, which I love!!

I was beyond excited to take up a request for Secret Santa and laying out my options, going off your list, I chose Ronald Speirs to write for you - I am so happy with how this turned out, and I hope, more than anything, you enjoy it and it brings some holiday cheer to this time of year, especially after a year where it seems like every thing that happened just got worse and worse.

Take time to yourself this holiday season, Kelsey, and you enjoy some time for yourself as well - you are such a wonderful human being, who I believe if I’m correct, I have followed since Day 1 in this fandom, nearly 2 years ago - if that even sounds right LOL! It’s been a long while though! Happy reading and happy holidays for whatever holiday you celebrate, or if you don’t celebrate any at all! Thank you and enjoy! And thank you @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant for doing this!!! <3

ronald speirs imagine x reader - 2.5k word count <3

Captain Speirs had been rather adamant on letting you go early from the tiny meeting Captain Winters had organized - between the runny nose, your numb fingertips, and your pale cheeks which seemed to stand out especially in the bleak wilderness around you, you figured it was for the best.

Haguenea, France was far from the paradise that Mourmelon-le-Grande had offered back in the convent in Rachamps when it was the only thought inside your mind, the warmth reaching your hands for the first time in what felt like months.

Now, your toes were numb just like your mind. Your helmet was cast down over your tired eyes, the dark rims that had accompanied you through Bastogne, along with the terrors of the Bois Jaque, you were surprised that you could no longer get a proper night of sleep at this point.

OP 2 stood with its bullet speckled fortifications, shattered glass window panes, and mud covered path way but more than anything you felt a tiny smile poke up at the corner of your mouth, more than anything in that moment.

Crossing your arms across your chest, you tucked your little hands towards the coat portion near your armpits, relishing the bit of warmth your body still managed to produce.

Moving up the few steps you had taken that morning, up to the depths of OP 2, you stomped the bits of mud out from the portions of your new winter-boots pack and pushed inside the bit of warmth that drifted from the outpost.

You could hear a few of the men moving around downstairs, most likely eating their fill before the patrol slated for 0100 tonight. It was quiet on the main level though, beds left unmade from where men had taken much-needed naps from the bitter cold which brought on layers of tiredness and loss of calories more than the normal days of what war brought.

Pulling the Thompson from your shoulder, you let it drop into your cold hands before lying it beside the bunk you, yourself had taken a nap in before you had woken up for the meeting.

Yawning, you glanced towards the open French doors that let in the cold draft of air in the late, dreary afternoon. The quiet river that trailed outside let it’s soft presence be known as the sun did its best to warm the land underneath which lay tattered in ruins and soaking snow and mud pits, decorating it with war.

Moving outside again, you let your pistol bump at your hip - no one wanted to start another battle when the war had already taken enough, no one wished to throng bullet after bullet towards one another when there was already so much bloodshed - for a moment there was simply just peace as you moved outside towards the river.

Turning the corner, where you had found a little secluded spot to just sit and let the tiny bit of peace you felt overtake you, you noticed a figure standing stiffly, his dark eyes looking out across the river, with a scarf pulled up around his stubble cheeks, eyes evidently alert and awake.

You had found the area just that day, frosted hedges and a leafless tree hanging overhead with the dreary sky as a saddening backdrop.

Clearing your throat, you took a tentative step forward, watching the man with gentle eyes. He didn’t seem to notice your presence, he didn’t make a show of it, but you knew he did, by the subtle shift in the way his shoulders dropped the slightest inch, and even his eyes seemed to soften, the hard glow from your side view of him fading.

Captain Speirs seemed no stranger to your presence in the simple way, he suddenly turned his own head towards your eyes, his lips pulled into the thin line you had seen previously at the small gathering with Captain Winters.

“ I thought I told you to get some rest, Lieutenant.” he said, his eyes softly moving up and down your small stature, stopping briefly on your hands which looked nearly as pale as the sky by that point - you looked so fragile and small in his eyes for a moment.

“ Sleeping and I aren’t exactly compatible.” you said as you approached him, your feet in the mud covered boots slowing to a pause in front of him as he watched you earnestly.

“ What are you doing out here, Lieutenant?”

“ I could ask the same of you, sir.” you answered quietly back, watching as he studied your eyes, noticing the build of stress lines that stretched like the horizon underneath your stressed eyes, the sunken in cheeks showing the wounds of war in someone who had fought so strongly against it and the pain of a million souls rupturing your heart. A slight hint of a smile poked up at the corner of his lips, as he finally rested his eyes on your own again, before looking back out towards the river and the enemy’s side.

“ It’s peaceful out here.” he said and you watched as he let his eyes move along the bank of water, softly picking on each and every little part of the river from its banks to the white caps.

“ I’m glad I’m not the only one who found it peaceful then.” you said quietly, your own eyes caring out towards the, admittedly, cold water. Slowly, willing yourself with the might you had, you walked forward and slowly positioned yourself beside the man, barely reaching his shoulder if you could admit it and let your eyes remain out on the river.

Captain Ronald Speirs had come into your life only recently, but even years before you had bumped into him on occasion - it was always a mutual greeting, signs of respect being passed between the two of you, both Lieutenants in your own realms. He had even complimented the dress you’d been wearing out on the town one night with a group of the guys in Aldbourne after the Normandy Campaign. He had liked the color - it had been a soft baby blue, like robin’s eggs - and he had liked it.

Of course at the time, you hadn’t thought much of it, the sun rising and setting, the moon coming out to expose the raw pain and truth of war, the bloodshed and endless battles and the grief that consumed merely just one person after the next - you’d forgotten about it almost instantly. You still remembered the softness of his eyes - that hadn’t changed.

Now, he was your CO and you remained a close Second to him; he turned to you when he wanted to run something over, and on occasion, you two shared a cigarette under the moonlight when all the men were tucked away and finally getting the restful sleep they deserved.

“ What do you think’s gonna happen on that patrol tonight, Lieutenant?” he asked you, voice soft, in a way gentle, but the soft rasp of a cough in his throat was far from evident. He always seemed to confide in you when these circumstances arose - especially after Rachamps.

“ I think the men will be okay, they’ve fought for a while in this war, just as the enemy has. They’ll do their best.” They were tired is what she wanted to say, all the men were - she gave a prayer to Sergeant Martin for the heed he took when assigned to lead the patrol over the exhausted Sergeant Malarkey.

“ They’ve all fought long enough.” the Captain said quietly and you peaked a hesitant glance up towards him. Your heart didn’t fail to speed up the slightest bit at the gentle nature that encased his face and the way he seemed to undoubtedly care for each of the men like a father would.

Turning from the river, he slowly met your eyes which didn’t falter in looking away from his own - you were rather mesmerized by his beautiful irises, the way they glowed even in darkness or in the bleak snow, even when the sun would rise, they glowed so purely.

“ Sir….I….” He watched you speak, head inclined towards you, waiting for the words from your lips, but you were caught up with the caring nature he seemed to inhibit within himself in that moment of time where there was no war, no peace, just him and his eyes, and just...him.

“ I know you care for these men, Y/N.” Captain Speirs whispered softly, as he watched your eyes change from the stressed expression they seemed to constantly encompass to a gentleness, a warmth, merely at the direct comment of her name and not just the soft rasp of Lieutenant - no he had said your name. So softly and tenderly, each letter off the tongue like a song.

“ I’ve been with them since Toccoa, sir….I…” your shoulders managed to slump as you found yourself unable to finish your sentence under the Captain’s gaze, unable to process mere words.

“ These men don’t deserve this Y/N, I know that and so does Captain Winters - I think we all do.”

“ Battalion’s orders.” you managed out weakly, with an attempt at a frosted smile as he nodded, watching the sadness flood your eyes again - he found out he didn’t like seeing your beautiful eyes sad like that, even if they still looked just as beautiful, your eyes didn’t deserve to see and feel such pain, for their mere beauty was worth much more.

“ You don’t deserve this either, Y/N.” Shutting your eyes for a moment, you felt your heart squeeze at his words - you always thought in some way you had - for the lives you took, for the ones you couldn’t prevent being taken, from everything. In some ways, it was alright - to pay your dues as such.

“ You deserve to be happy, warm...in a little cottage by the sea that you’ve always liked…”

He had LISTENED to that story? He had HEARD that story?

You swore it must’ve been the fever or maybe that the recollection you had was just you mumbling to yourself, you swore it had been.

“ You heard all that?” you asked softly, your eyes opening as you met his own again. A chuckle left his lips and you found it enough to boost your own into a shy smile at it, his eyes downcast before glancing up to your own. He had a nice laugh.

“ Yeah, yeah I did,” he said biting back his lips as a smile crossed his lips, twinkling eyes shining on you,” must’ve been the fever but you were going on and on about it and I wasn’t going to stop you either.” You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at your clumsy way of speech - through a fever and the cold and you had blabbered to Captain Speirs about the cottage by the sea you wished for.

Both your smiles seemed to fall once the moment past and almost like a little angel on your shoulder, your heart pleaded to see that dash of a boyish grin on his lips again. Your heart nearly yearned for it when it’s only human contact was the Captain in front of her - maybe she wanted it too.

And from the proximity of your bodies, you were nearly in reach of him.

“ Your eyes..-” Softly looking towards you as you spoke, your lip hanging open a bit as you met them again,”...I mean, sir, I..I don’t know if you’ve been told, but you’re eyes…” He watched you softly.

“ They’re beautiful, sir, and I just thought you should know.” Because in war, this war, I may never see you after tonight, you wished to say, but your head was saying no as your heart was saying yes.

The smile that had gone underground on the Captains’ face suddenly grew, spreading across his face and you couldn’t help but let your breath get caught in your throat.

An ethereal being was your first thought.

It seemed like he too was caught at a similar crossroads, his eyes betraying him and his heart - you were within reach, you were standing right there, despite everything.

You were standing there with a wounded heart.

“ I could say the same to you,” he said quietly,” Lieutenant.” Your heart squeezed the slightest bit tighter as he said it.

“ Baby blue,” he said quietly,” like robin’s eggs.” Your eyes carried up to his again and you met them within seconds, suddenly aware of the heat on your cheeks, the pounding of your heart - none of it.

“ I didn’t just notice that dress you wore that day, Lieutenant,” he said quietly,” I noticed those eyes too.” He swore they could make the sun want to rise on its worst days. You swore it was just the cold, but you had no words left to say, you had nothing to say at all - because his eyes which glowed like the sun, said it all.

“ Sir….” you whispered, but he suddenly turned and gently pressed his hands which had been crossed over his chest, flush against your red cheeks and watched you tenderly, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of your sunken in cheeks, as he watched your eyes. He watched you so selflessly, like you were his sun, his world.

Could a person ever mean that much to another - maybe Ronald Speirs thought that way.

Maybe he always had.

It seemed for a moment the stoic Captain did everything to break down the walls which encapsulated him just so he could touch the human in front of him - you. The bit of warmth he still felt under his fingertips coming from you.

Softly, ever so lovingly, he shut his eyes as you watched his long lashes cover his irises.

And in that moment, you shut your own as he held your there, inches from his face, faintly hearing his heartbeat which raced for the first time since Foy.

“ You stand for what is right, Y/N, without the expectation of gratitude or reward.” he whispered softly as your heart rushed and hurriedly skipped over a beat without hesitation,” And through this war, even after, it’s all you deserve.”

And within a moment, a softness pressed against your cold cheek, the touch of his lips on your skin, a gentle kiss from the servant of the sun - and just as fast as it had happened it disappeared.

Your own hands slowly moved upward towards your flushed cheeks - you could still feel the brush of his lips against the skin of your cheek.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself alone, all alone by the rushing water of the river, your heart pounding. Slowly, you glanced over your shoulder and found the figure of the Captain moving away from you, his commanding presence which had fallen to his queen for a mere moment of time, back up.

Yet you had seen it fall, and you had seen his heart, his beautiful heart - for not only were his eyes as beautiful as they had been, but so was his heart - it had always been, but this time, so was everything else about him.

Everything.

The sun smiled, it would always rise.

The sun would always rise.

#hbo war secret santa 2020 #shannon's writings #band of brothers imagine #imagine #writing #short fic #ronald speirs x reader #ronald speirs #kelsey!#incorrectbandofbrothersquotes #wexhappyxfew #bob imagine #band of brothers fandom #secret santa 2020 #hbo war #bob #band of brothers

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

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Lost Tomb Lewks, Part 7

The Warehouse 11 Special

(Masterpost)

Warning: Spoilers for Season 1 of The Lost Tomb Reboot

Rather than intersperse an endless series of slightly-different Warehouse 11 outfits throughout the series, I’m going to cover them all in one long post. Wu Xie spends a LOT of time in various Warehouse 11 uniforms. but at least he doesn’t spend three episodes chained to a pillar; I’m looking at you, Shen Wei.

Out of curiosity, I made a swatch of all of the colors used in these looks. It’s actually a pretty good range. They’re not very exciting colors, but the baseline blue-green color of most of the uniforms is flattering.

Look 31 is the Transport Driver uniform. This starts off being worn by future friend Li Jiale, who becomes a temporary enemy when Wu Xie tasers him into unconsciousness and steals his clothes and truck. Some people can’t take a joke.

This uniform is a rich blue with maroon detailing on the chest pockets and a striped ribbon across the chest. It features a closely-fitted hat and a blue and white arm patch.

The arm patch features a swirly design similar to traditional cloud, bat, and butterfly embroideries; perhaps it’s meant to represent one of the various bugs that will try to kill Wu Xie during his time in the caverns of Warehouse 11.

Look 32 belongs to Bai Haotian, aka Xiao Bai, who is such a delightful character she almost makes up for the other two major female characters in this thing. Not only does she not suffer in order for a man to have feelings about her suffering, but when she is rescued from danger by the man she loves, it does not lead to making out or other intimate moments. So refreshing!

Her uniform is not particularly refreshing, but it is different from Wu Xie’s, and she looks cute in it. This look features fitted dark trousers (it’s hard to tell from the lighting if they are black, green, or blue), a jacket in Pantone 5473C with a collar and pocket flaps in 5477C. Sorry for busting out the Pantone refs but I can only type “green” so many times.

Xiao Bai’s jacket has pleated box pockets over the boobs, which look fine on a person with small boobs. As long as they don’t try to actually put anything in the pockets. The jacket is fitted through the shoulders with a reverse pleat in the center back. She wears it with a white shirt, suitable for writing on.

(More behind the cut!)

Xiao Bai accessorizes this look with pink underclothes that she hides as quickly as possible, while Wu Xie politely avoids looking quickly checks them out.

Look 33 is Wu Xie’s Level 1 Uniform. It’s Pantone 5473C with pointed pocket flaps in 5477C and a white-and-5473C striped band across the chest and back.

It features a close-fitted cap that matches the shirt, and dark cargo pants.

It’s got an inverted pleat in the back and military-style straps on the shoulders. Everything fastens with snaps with shiny black dome covers.

Like all Warehouse 11 indoor uniforms, this has a badge on the chest that’s somewhere between a yellow brass and a green bronze color, depending on how it catches the light. The drivers don’t seem to have these badges.

I actually kind of like Wu Xie in a hat.

Wu Xie wears this uniform with black lace-up work/hiking boots. I don’t know if these are part of everyone’s uniform or if it’s a BYOS kind of place. It’s mostly too dark to get a good look at anyone’s feet.

Look 34 is Wu Xie’s Level 1 uniform with a black tee shirt and socks.

This is a good look for kissing your own biceps and saying “welcome to the gun show, ladies!” lying down under the stars with a girl and talking about constellations, in a nice twist on a classic romance trope.

I normally don’t project ideas about friendship onto strangers who work on or star in TV shows, but I really feel like this camera operator understands me.

Wu Xie accessorizes this look with a water bottle with a picture of his boyfriend on it.

Wu Xie: If you have one Wu baby and one Zhang baby that will provide a new generation for all three of our families. I promise you’ll like Xiao Ge. He’s...very talented.

This look goes well with having a beautiful face and a loving camera operator & director of photography.

I could wish the lighting designer was less fond of green, but the plot demands it, alas.

Xiao Bai’s outfit also goes well with having a beautiful face. Her haircut does, too--it’s super cute and flattering.

Look 35 is Wu Xie’s testing outfit for the first test. It’s his level one uniform, untucked, with dark glasses and fingerless gloves.

And his tongue.

OP did not speed up that gif on purpose; she captures everything at that speed, honest.

Look 36 is Wu Xie’s Level 8 Uniform. When they gave him this, did he think “oh, different uniforms for different levels, I wonder which level Xiao Bai’s uniform signifies? He did not. Neither did OP.

This uniform features a jacket in the green/green color scheme, with two pleated boxy pockets at the waist and one on the right side of the chest. The collar is an open triangle lapel instead of the two-part suit collar featured on Xiao Bai’s jacket - his jacket is tailored more like a work shirt. It’s worn untucked and doesn’t have a waistband. The white-and-green striped ribbon that was over the chest on the level 1 uniform makes an appearance here as tiny tabs on the pocket flaps. He wears a brown button-up shirt underneath.

I gotta say, the costume department really did a great job designing a whole range of uniforms that have repeating motifs, coloring, and detailing, while changing up how everything is put together.

All the uniform variations take me back--WAY back--to when I was a girl scout in the 1970s. My troop mostly wore badge vests or sashes over normal clothes but we all liked to look at the glamorous uniforms in the catalogs.

Actually the girl on the floor looks really sharp. Which is probably why she’s keeping away from the nerds on the left.

Look 37 is Wu Xie’s second test outfit. Yeah, we’re going out of order, to break up the sea of green with some smooth, glowing skin.

Zhu Yilong has nice arms, and whoever designed this sequence thinks so to. Particularly when considering the clothing item Wu Xie puts on over his undershirt.

This lil’ vest would be right at home at International Mister Leather Twill. What on earth is the purpose of a vest with pockets that you wear under an outer shirt with pockets? Other than to give you more time to show off your arms while dressing?

It features black panels on the upper chest and back; one flap pocket closure and one strap pocket closure, a...zipper? down the front? With black fabric on either side.

He wears it under his untucked level one shirt. There is no way anybody wears these vests under their shirts for normal wear - the pockets would keep anything over it from laying flat.

Look 38 is the Supervisor outfit worn by Jia Kezi.

It’s all one color--Pantone 5473C--and has rounded puffy pockets on the chest with rounded flaps, rather than the square ones featured on Xiao Bai’s uniform of the flat chest pockets of the level 1 uniform.

It has a covered placket and a high band collar, with the same close-fitted cap featured in the other uniforms.

He looks really good in this cap, which shows off his beautiful eyes and eyebrows better than his floppy hair, I think. He accessorizes this look with warm-toned skin, a cleft chin and sculpted cheekbones.

Look 39 is Wu Xie’s level 14 uniform, which shows that he’s a director now.

It looks exactly like Director Ding’s uniform.

and, oh hey! It also looks exactly like Bai Haotian’s uniform.

Her entire disguise was to change badges and remove her tie.

Look 40 is the last Warehouse 11 uniform. It belongs to book author/screenwriter/producer Nan Pai San Shu, who gets to wear a brown vest and shirt instead of green & green, and whose badge says he’s Level 18. As befits the creator of this endlessly entertaining world and these delightful characters.

More Lewks coming soon! Including several that are not green!

#the lost tomb reboot #reunion: the sound of the providence #wu xie #warehouse 11 #dmbj #lost tomb lewks #canary3d-original #my gifs #the lost tomb reboot spoilers

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cloveroctobers · 4 years

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HARRY ZHONG (MITCHELL-WHITE)

IG info/bio: @/heedful.harry | 15.6k followers| hi, I’m Harry and I’m a business major. No, You don’t have to hold your applause 🧐

21 years old

From York, England

Cancer sun + ARIES MOON energy

He and his younger brother, Archie were foster children in the Mitchell-white household

which consisted: Harrison Mitchell and his daughter from a previous marriage, Briony, Piers White and together they had a surrogate carry their child, which gave them their second daughter, Pippa

Later they came to the decision to adopt Harry and Archie Zhong, if only that’s what they wanted too

It took longer for Harry to warm up to the family since he was still waiting and wishing for his mom to come back for them

He was diagnosed with IED around 15 years old

Goes to therapy for it and meetings with others with similar issues...he dreads the meetings since it makes him feel like he has a problem or something, which HE DOES but it makes him feel like a...but he knows that’s a ignorant way to think

He’s currently a business major and loves telling people about it *yawn* (don’t drag me lmao)

He’s thinking he’ll be a Financial analyst or a Marketing manager

The type of person who’s done a lot in his short life that it’s often unbelievable ex.) telling the villa he’s driven one of the cars that was used in the fast and furious franchise & getting pissed when bill and everyone else didn’t believe him

Harrison is a train driver and is normally bubbly + wears bright preppy clothes

He also loves Broadway, much to Harry’s annoyance...if he hears one more Hamilton song he’s gonna slam his head thru a wall stg

Piers is a music producer and is more reserved or “stand-off-ish” until he gets warmed up to you + his aesthetic is a rocker, yeah he’s got the whole tattoos and boots thing going for him, after all he was in a rock band

Piers makes the most $ and is of high status, which brought him and his family perks but is not a snob about it...it’s whatever ya know?

Harry’s closer to piers, feels he understands him more & can be kinda rude to Harrison when he’s in one of his moods but tries to be better at responding to him since he made him cry once years ago — yes he felt like complete shit afterwards

Harry is anemic so he always finds himself cold, experiencing fatigue, irregular heartbeat, and if he gets up too fast or moves too fast? Let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the—FLOOO000R! (I’m making this joke as a person with anemia)

Likes cold weather since everyone else can feel what he feels on the daily

Plus he loves dressing for winter season, trench coats, wool coats, turtle necks, thermal t-shirts, fleece pants, rolled up beanies that keeps his ears covered and his hair glued to his forehead...you name it!

On the regular? He’s a khaki’s kinda guy, dress shirts, and loves wearing suit and ties...he’s not the biggest fan of jeans. He loves dressing fancy unless the measurements are bloody awful

I’m going by the alternative design for Harry and...whew! Then he’s 6’1 if we’re talking about the one they gave us then we all know he has a baby face, so I’d say he’s about 5’8

He’s got long legs + arms and hates how majority of his pants barely fit around his ankles

has dry scalp too

I feel like he’s pretty intelligent and sometimes it can come off as a know it all, yet, he’s always down to help people & isn’t condescending while doing so

He knows how to make soaps and would sell them on his etsy account in highschool where plenty shat on him for it so for awhile he stopped the hobby until Harrison encouraged him to keep at this if it was what makes him happy

Harrison is the type of parent you go to for comfort and hugs even if it might feel like he’s smothering you

Piers is the one who lets you come to him when you’re ready to talk about it, no pressure

Harry went to a high school that focused on technology so he’s all into the latest gadgets

This is a secret but he only got a apple watch to feel like a true spy

His intelligence got him somewhere with a few ladies ;)

He’s a certified freak, 7 days a week and had a handful of hookups and about 4 gfs in his life so far

He’s kinky!!!

& has a f**t fetish

His past relationships were not long relationships, which sucked but Harry felt like...this might sound arrogant, but it’s either their lost — although there was never any bad blood with his breakups! or his person was still out there somewhere...

I haven’t fully played his route (AJ stole my ass since I couldn’t romance seb or Nicky sorry) but I’ve seen screen caps and he’s a total sweetie if he’s really committed to you, you might be his “true love”

He’s nervous opposed to his usual confidence when he’s chatting to other ladies with ease, with you it’s different, it’s magnetic, nerve-wrecking, butterflies, electric, and exciting all wrapped in one

I feel like he shows his love language with quality time but also enjoys physical touch from his partner

Picky eater

But he was worst as a child! Barely ate anything which led to him being lanky or it’s in his genes but mostly he wouldn’t eat a damn thing

These are a few of his favorite things: figs, green tea, and almond milk

makes the best spring rolls with the rice paper, those are superior than fried! “Fried food will kill u u know!” “Okay bill.” “Iona, don’t know if u had too much to drink but, erm I’m Harry.” “R/WHOOOOssssh! And you’re s’pposed to be the smart one, yeah right.”

outside of the villa he found himself continuing his friendship with bill—even tho he pisses him off sometimes since he’s always got some shit to say but they’re probably the closest, Iona she’s always honest and is always a good time to be around when they hang out, Then there’s Camilo and Miki that he hangs out with too

Is the first one sharing about his day in the group chat with all of the villa, he can feel half of them rolling their eyes at him since many feel he tends to exaggerate

if he’s not endgame with mc...he kinda feels a way that Genevieve found her happiness in seb instead of him, it’s not that he’s bitter—he genuinely liked her and felt like maybe they didn’t try hard enough but deep down knows relationships can’t be forced. It’s just his ego trying to control things that’s all! plus he was comfortable with vieve even if it felt more on a platonic side...oh well

once slid into jen from s1’s dms one dark stormy drunk night & admitted on live that erikah kinda gave him some tips before going on the show... & that he thought one of the new girls that entered the villa was a better fit than one of the originals from s2 which caused him to get blocked by said original OOP

Has a circle of close friends outside of the villa, they’re all brainiacs and have something going for themselves

Enjoys action films and biographical drama films like: James Bond, John Wick, and the social network

Isn’t ashamed to admit that he loves using sheet face masks but isn’t the greatest at following a consistent skincare routine

Has his own back massager that he spent a lot of $ on since it wouldn’t go on sale and then a week later...it went on sale

sends a lot of “🙃🙂” texts when you piss him off

probably worked at GameStop, the apple store, Godiva, and currently works at a electronic repair shop for a side of cash but is looking for a internship since he’ll be graduating next year

Always Keeps cough drops on him?

is a huge cuddler & falls asleep easily

His brain is always active, experiences REM sleep often

fav video games are tekken & hitman

owns a drone now 😏

also loves strategic board games & riddles

Took quarantine life seriously, did his research before it completely broke globally and started buying shit excessively in person and online that he sent most to his family before the campus shut down

Is the friend that will check on his friends :)

Keeps his dorm and his room back home CLEAN af, is OCD about everything being in order/organized. Will know if you touched his shit, Archie felt his wrath many times before

Has a life goal board in his closet, & plans to be fully established by 25. More power to ya Harry!

Celeb crushes: Victoria justice, Jesy Nelson, Deepika Padukone, Brec Bassinger, jasmine tookes, and princess Mae

Who does he listen to? oceanfromtheblue, Galimatias, Ta-Ku, Aries, Tyler, the creator, rich Brian, NIKI, viji, & AJR

Anthem = DPR IAN, “So beautiful”

#litg #litg3 #litg s3 #litg harry #litg genevieve #litg bill #litg seb #litg mc #litg oc #litg moodboard #litg headcanon #litg headcanons #yes I’m still doing these and it’s kinda challenging but at the same time not?

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sodalitefully · 3 years

Text

Santa Slash is coming to town...

This fic is the Christmas-themed spiritual successor to my Easter Bunny AU. Special thanks to @slashscowboyboots for supporting all my holiday nonsense!

Four snapshots from Slash’s Christmas prep marathon through the years:

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Jingle bells.

Fucking jingle bells.

There were FIFTEEN of them on the stupid-fucking-candy-colored costume he had to wear at this godforsaken excuse for a seasonal job. “Earn some extra cash,” they said. “It’s easy, you barely have to do anything,” they said. "You'll be perfect, you already look the part!" they said.

"They are about to find a size-ten jingle-toed bootie up their ass,” Axl said – to himself, as he rushed into the storage room turned "dressing room" and buttoned up his itchy red and green vest with one hand while sipping an Orange Julius from the food court with the other.

“Hey, Axl! You’re barely late today, awesome!”

And then there was this weirdo.

Axl could not for the life of him explain why a shopping mall in Indiana elected to hire a skinny dude in his 20s with a dark complexion and a nose ring to portray Saint Nick himself, but whatever the reason, Axl was stuck working with this fruitcake until Christmas Day. Sure Slash was nice enough (oh yeah, and his name was Slash, or at least that's how he introduced himself without offering any explanation or even a last name), but he was way too enthusiastic about getting paid minimum wage to let strange kids sit in his lap at a grimy old shopping mall.

Uh, not in a weird way, Slash was good with the kids, really. But sometimes... it seemed like he was taking his role a little too seriously.

"How come you don't have a beard?" the first customer of Axl's shift, a little girl in a Tweety bird sweater and blonde pigtails, asked suspiciously.

"That's a good question,” Slash said, scratching at his bare chin. The neck of his Motörhead Beyond the Threshold of Pain Tour T-shirt was visible over the faux fur collar of the Santa costume, and his shiny black boots clearly came from a military surplus store. “I get asked that a lot but the truth is, it just isn't a flattering look, trust me. I tried it once, and the elves could barely look at me in the eye." To Axl’s incredulity, the girl actually accepted that answer. "Now tell me, what would you like for Christmas this year, sweetheart?"

As usual, Axl tuned out at this point. Fake a smile for the overprotective parents, take the painfully awkward commemorative photograph, try not to look like he would rather die than hear Slash try to gently explain that Santa will probably not be delivering a pony this year one more damn time, rinse and repeat – until about an hour later, when the unthinkable happened.

The less said about about the incident, the better. Suffice to say, one of the darling angels tossed his Christmas cookies, and some of the resulting mess wound up soaking into the front of Axl’s elf costume. As if he needed another reason to hate his job; this was just adding insult on top of injury (that is, the injury to Axl’s pride as a result of being forced to wear the most ridiculous-looking costume he’s ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on).

“That’s it. I quit.” He grabbed the elf cap off his head and slammed it on the ground, then stormed through the exit gate past the sign wishing customers a "Holly Jolly Holiday Season," the bells on his costume ringing merrily as he stomped his feet.

“Hey, wait!”

“No,” Axl growled, but he did turn around to look back at Slash, still sitting in the plastic candy-cane throne unbothered by the mess or the sniffling child now mostly placated by a peppermint candy. "What."

Slash offered him a bright, beguiling smile.

"What do you want for Christmas, Axl?"

-----

Nothing said "holiday cheer" like wandering the tinsel-adorned labyrinth that was a Walmart superstore a week before Christmas, with Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" echoing through the tinny PA system and surrounded by other last-minute vultures hopelessly scavenging the picked-over aisles.

In Izzy's defense, he actually finished all his shopping early this year, for once. But then his two little brothers begged him to drive them around town to find the perfect gift for a girl at school that they apparently both had a crush on, and like a fool he agreed.

He was regretting it now. Anything would be better than subjecting himself to nearly an hour of top-40 Christmas music. The jingle bells were jingling, the carolers were caroling, the B-list pop stars were spitting out god-awful covers of Christmas classics, and don’t even get him started on the commercials.

He wasn't about to walk around in public with his fingers shoved in his ears (at least, he wasn't that desperate yet), but he did squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to relax. Just take deep breaths and think of The Rolling Stones...

"Hey, uh, you doing okay?"

Izzy opened his eyes reluctantly. In front of him was a young man wearing a concerned expression and a Santa hat, stuffed onto a massive pile of dark curls.

"I'm fine. Just finding out if it's possible to die from overexposure to Christmas music."

"Ahhh." The man nodded in understanding. "It's not, unfortunately. I've tested it, trust me."

"Do you work here or something?" Izzy asked. A leather jacket and ripped jeans didn't look like an employee uniform, but his hat matched the store decor and he didn't have a cart or shopping basket.

"No, I'm actually a seasonal distributor. Just checking in to make sure everything's in place before that last holiday rush, you know? Shit always gets crazy at the last minute."

"Tell me about it," Izzy responded, as if he knew a thing about marketing as a cynical 16-year-old. But he had first-hand experience with last-minute crises, and as if to prove it, his brothers came running up to him at that moment.

"Jeff! We can't find anything good, what should we do?"

"What's the problem?" the stranger in a Santa hat asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"We don't know what present to get for a girl at school," the boys explained.

"Hmm..." He tapped at his chin. "Why don't you just – oh wait, you're underage. Well, how about you bake her some cookies or something? That's what everyone does for me and I have no complaints."

Desperate to remove himself from this musical hell, Izzy jumped on the idea. "Yeah, you could do sugar cookies! And decorate them like horses, she likes horses right?” The boys had only mentioned that a dozen times; Izzy was starting to wonder if this girl even had any other personality traits.

To his relief, a spark lit up in his brothers' eyes. Cookies were a perfect idea, and suddenly they were dragging him away to look at cookie cutters and sprinkles.

Izzy turned around to shoot the helpful stranger a grateful look, but when he looked back, the man had disappeared with no trace, leaving not even a furry white pompom behind.

-----

Slash glanced out the window and grimaced – it was cold as a witch’s big bouncy tit outside, nothing but snow and ice as far as the eye could see. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and took another swig of hot Irish coffee. Damn the North Pole, there was a reason he took his summer vacations in Malibu.

But despite the miserable work conditions, Slash was nothing if not dedicated to his job. In front of him was a sack overflowing not with toys but with the most recent letters to Santa, straight from the North Pole's post office. With Christmas only a few days away, his daunting task was to go through the whole mountain of letters as quickly as possibly in order to take their special requests into consideration before it was time to start loading up the sleigh.

Well, there was no time like the present to get started. Slash stretched his back and got comfortable in his coziest armchair (by throwing his legs over one armrest and slouching until his head rested on the other), absentmindedly tapping the end of his peppermint stick on the edge of an ashtray. He grimaced when he brought the stick back to his lips and realized his mistake.

With a sigh, he dropped the peppermint stick back in the ashtray already full of cigarette butts and ruined candies, and unfolded the first letter. In barely legible green marker, the message read:

Dear Santa Claus,

My name is Steven and I'm 5 years old. Please give me a skateboard for Christmas. My brother has one and he won't let me borrow it to learn tricks.

Hmmm. Five years old was a little young for a skateboard. Knowing Steven, he'd probably knock his teeth out by New Year's...

...Slash shrugged. Why not? All things considered, he would have killed for a skateboard when he was five, so who was he to say no?

-----

Duff was seven years old when his older brothers cornered him in the backyard and gleefully informed him that Santa Claus was a fraud. It was all a lie made up by parents to convince their children to behave during the year, they explained, and the toys were made on factory lines not by magical elves. Their mother gave them a hell of a scolding afterwards but it was too late, the deed could not be undone.

He tried to play it cool, but the truth was, Duff was very distraught as Christmas Eve inched closer. Could his siblings be right? He didn't want to believe it, but if he was being honest with himself, he'd suspected as much for some time. He braced himself to accept the hard truth come Christmas Eve – but only if he was presented with definitive proof.

When the fateful night finally came, Duff and two of his brothers laid out their sleeping bags behind the couch, where they'd be hidden from view if anyone tried to approach the Christmas tree. They all swore not to fall asleep, not even for a second until Christmas morning... And it wasn't until his brother started snoring that Duff realized he was the only one still awake and silently anticipating the moment of truth.

It was imperative, of course, that he stayed hidden and didn't make a sound, or else risk giving their plot away. But... it was past midnight, dinner was hours ago and Duff's empty stomach was starting to distract him from the task at hand. He couldn't stop thinking about all the food he would get to eat with his family on Christmas Day: the glazed ham, mashed potatoes, apple pie and Christmas cookies...

In the dim light, Duff could just barely make out the plate of cookies for Santa, waiting in front of the tree. The cookies were still there untouched, all six of them... Surely no one would notice if Duff ate just one?

He tiptoed over his sleeping siblings, as silent as the snow falling outside, making his way around the sofa to the plate on the coffee table. But just as he reached out to pluck a gingerbread man from the assortment, he saw a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye. There, beside the Christmas tree in the flickering glow of multicolored string lights, was a mysterious figure in a fur-lined coat and a red cap.

Duff stared at the intruder, slack-jawed. The cookie clattered back onto the dish, and at the noise the stranger whirled around to face him.

"Duff! What are you doing still awake?" he demanded. Duff took a breath to answer – or more likely to ask how the man knew his name – but before he could, the man peered over the couch, narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Oh I see what this is. You thought you would catch your parents pretending to be me!" he accused. "Well, here's the real truth: adults are always wrong and you should never do what they say!"

The man – could he really be Santa Claus? – he planted his leather-gloved hands on his hips as he scolded Duff. "And don't even get me started on teenagers..." he griped, casting a stare over Duff's shoulder where his older brother's leg was sticking out from behind the couch, tangled in a blanket.

Tears started to well up in Duff's eyes.

"Please still give them Christmas presents! I know they said they don't believe in you, but they've been good, I promise!" he begged. Santa's expression softened.

"Aw, I know, kid. I promise they'll still get their presents, alright? Let me just finish up here and then maybe you can help me out with those cookies, sound good?"

Placated, Duff sniffled and nodded, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He hopped onto the sofa, swinging his feet and watching with awe as Santa pulled beautifully wrapped gifts out of seemingly nowhere and stacked them around the tree, one after another until all eight of the McKagan children were represented. He took a step back to take in his handiwork, made a few minor adjustments, then turned back to Duff: “Voila! That’s the magic of Christmas. Now pass me that plate, would you?”

Santa sat down next to Duff and propped his boots up on the coffee table. When Duff held out the plate of cookies, he selected one decorated to look like Santa Claus, white beard and all, and promptly bit its head off.

“I love my job, but delivering presents is exhausting,” he sighed, accepting a glass of milk from Duff’s outstretched hand. “I’ve already covered Asia, Africa, Europe, and most of the Americas, so I’d say I’m due for a break. Cheers, Duff.” He held up his glass and Duff tapped it with his half-eaten cookie.

“To a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!”

🎄🎄🎄🎄

#which sounds better:#santa slash or slash claus?#what do yall eat on christmas? i realized while writing this that i have no idea what people normally have #sodafics #guns n roses #gnr #guns and roses #slash #saul hudson #axl rose #izzy stradlin #steven adler #duff mckagan #gnr fanfic #christmas

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steve0discusses · 4 years

Text

S4 Ep38: Awkward Hugs Episode

Remember how excited I was about the good storyboarder? Well this episode has the opposite of that. It looks a lot like they hit some sort of crunch and this entire episode got shipped to Singapore so that some other animation studio could deal with their problems. It’s got some jank.

And like listen, animation is hard, there’s a billion moving plates, there’s a lot of office politics and deadlines, this season in particular is very long and complicated, and I don’t know exactly what happened this episode, but it just...wow it’s a lot funny poorly animated moments and I was here for it.

So first off, Dartz died! I didn’t even cap it because it happened so quickly. He was standing there, a portal opened up, and then the Great Leviathan kind of munched him up in 3 frames of animation, and then dissolved away back into the portal. It was card shenanigans anyway, and I don’t go over card games here--just trust me he played cards, he lost, he died.

Once Dartz died, this happened, in the one place Roland thought he was safe.

Roland has spent a good amount of this time debating whether or not to go inside and now he’s got a situation. Is it safer in Soul Hut than...whatever this is?

I wouldn’t know either.

So he just decides to uh...look directly at it while everyone else deals with orb hell.

The three knights of Atlantis decide to revive the respective owners of their cards.

So Pegasus just has to sit back, relax, and find some other unsuspecting orb person to share his fanfiction deep cuts with.

PS, that was not an exaggeration on the lazy PowerPoint spiral-in transition--this episode was a marvel of “Oh crap we ran out of time!” last-ditch effort animation and I approve.

(read more under the cut)

And if you thought they were done being orbs now that we’re on a physical mortal plane--nah.

This is the closest Pharoah and Yugi have ever gotten to a physical hug. Just throwing it out there that this is the only time they’ve touched in any way as two separate entities. Also--I like that this is the same way Yugi holds his necklace when he’s talking to Pharaoh. Cute little parallel there.

And as I mentioned, there were a lot of people just hugging it out as if it’s the last episode of the season. First off, one of the most huggy people on this show, which I’m still surprised is the Kaibas.

(he did legitimately pretend to be asleep by the way, because as he was spiraling out of hell he was like “whaoooahahhh”)

So I guess if Mokuba, Tristan, and Tea woke up without being orbs first, then that really does mean they never died 2 episodes ago.

Fine. This is fine. I’ll append my headcanon.

...so Dartz really was just so tired of them that he decided to make them take a nap, huh? That Mokuba was so annoying he was just like “I’m turning them off ok? Not like OFF off, not killing them or anything, that would be rude--I just don’t like small one.”

Meanwhile Tea has a Yugi appreciation moment where she’s reunited with her very confusing relationship. Which is how she likes it best. Undefined in nearly every sort of way. A relationship made entirely out of subtext.

(and honestly, relationships made entirely out of subtext is like 75% of the teen dating experience, which I may have mentioned before, but I do not remember if I have because 2020 has wiped my memory of just so many things.)

I vocally, out-loud, went “Ahhhh!” at the screen because I FORGOT how big his eyes are. They are so wild usually, but with the animation B-team at the helm, I was just not ready for the eyes to return. Yugi’s eyes are just...an abomination in every way and I forget when I see them consistently. I get used to them, I get over it...But when I go an entire season without these hell eyes staring directly at me every five seconds, then it’s like I’ve seen them for the first time.

I’m glad he’s back but man his eyes.

Those eyes.

Anyway, on for some more awkward hugs. First off, Yugi’s visceral reaction to his pretty-much-a-wife-at-this-point giving him a...hug?

(she’s kneeling, by the way. Bro mentioned that it looks like she picked him up and held him entirely by the neck--that would have been great, and I would never doubt Tea’s strength, but she had the decency not to do that.)

And then to Yugi’s just overall confusion to whatever Joey Wheeler defines as a hug.

I am 5 feet 0 inches tall, much like Yugi, and can confirm that yes, some people do hug me like this.

This type of hug should be illegal, it’s very disorienting.

Then, Yugi got to do what he does best.

The FIRST THING he does from coming back from death is immediately hold back information. Mm. Yugi at his finest.

At the point that you’d assume that someone in this room would indicate that maybe this hell vortex is like...a situation...Roland comes in the room screaming for Kaiba to come outside and tell him what the hell to do with his life.

So they go outside and the city of Atlantis is popping out of the sea and flying directly into the air--which...sure, it doesn’t really go in the air usually...but I’ll take it.

And in case you’re like...wait, I thought Atlantis was in California, not in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, don’t worry, it’ll get even more confusing later on.

Also, this happened.

Most of the human race freakin died so like...not sure what we should be concerned about here. Gotta get that one last guy in Florida to board up his house, I guess.

I like that Tea is contractually obligated to beg Yugi to stay behind so she doesn’t have to live without him when...it’s like...Tea, your relationship is already a big ass question mark, and Yugi actually dying did not even mean you were living without him. He’s been around this whole season as Pharaoh, my dude. You have the only boyfriend who will not only never officially date you but will also officially never go away.

So like...earlier in the season it was mentioned that Florida had the pieces of Atlantis shoved in a museum so like...is Atlantis off of Florida now? Because the Battle of Atlantis was in the Bay Area, and Dartz lives in San Francisco, and they went on a helicopter and flew out to the sea so...

We GOTTA be in the Pacific, right?

Anyway, it could be that they’re worried it’ll hit the East Coast of Japan--which, yes--it would. That would also be way more pertinent to our cast of people who live in Japan, it’s just that if you’re doing a show in English that takes place in the USA and you say the “East Coast” it only means New York.

I don’t think the translation team got the memo, it was a very weird line.

Tea wishes Yugi luck instead of Pharaoh for once, and Yugi was like “I don’t know why you want to talk to me instead of the version of me with the fine ass.” and his confusion was kind of cute, but they didn’t actually go into any more deets than this.

Valon and Mai were almost making out with each other’s dead body like ten episodes ago, so maybe the team felt like they had enough practice to maybe almost approach something happening with their flagship couple? Almost.

But also...Yugi just has no idea that a few days ago Tea was trying to get Pharaoh to talk to her on a Caltrain by talking about wearing little swimsuits on a Florida beach date, and then Pharaoh got so upset he went to the tiny area between trains and started sobbing while punching a wall. Yugi doesn’t know this. I don’t think anyone will ever tell him.

And like...will anyone tell Yugi that Pharaoh woke up in Tea’s bed? Like no one, right? Like no one even knows that happened? The irony of how cautious Yugi is with this relationship after Pharaoh was just slicing and dicing for this entire season is great. It’s also probably unintentional, but I can still laugh at it.

Anyway, inside soul hut, Yugi got a little lost, and then his puzzle started glowing and brought him to the Macguffins from last season. Would have been really inconvenient if these got doused in the sea, honestly, and I don’t think the Ishtars would have appreciated it.

Also, this puzzle sensor would have been really, really useful in S2.

Meanwhile, I think Seto and Joey just stared at this glowy gate of hell thing being all “Do you know what this is, Kaiba? I was dead” and Kaiba being all “Hell if I know, I was also dead, I don’t know what this thing is.” And Joey being like “Well Yugi doesn’t know what it is, he was also dead.” and Kaiba being like “The only one of us alive was the dead guy who lives in Yugi’s imagination?”

And then Joey being like “Also, where the hell are we?”

So, frustrated that this obvious trap was simply too confounding, Dartz decides to explain to our dumb as hell cast what a “door” is.

Where we can then admire the sights of Atlantis! Which is mostly brick buildings and giant gates with snakes on them.

Also it would just be COVERED in dead fish but we’re gonna skip that and save it for what would be an extremely ill-fated Netflix live-action series that they will probably eventually make of Season 4. Netflix can’t help itself, you know it can’t. This is a spicy series. It would be terrible in gritty live action. Make it happen, Netflix.

I feel like the artist was trying desperately to fix Joey’s bangs and I feel that on an emotional level. We all want to fix Joey’s bangs. Why did they stop at Joey?

They find Dartz in some weird Gazebo which...OK. It was a whole lot of weird concept art that I didn’t cap because it’s like...nothing is terrifying about a Gazebo...

I straight up don’t understand Atlantis culture.

So, Dartz decided that he could just...use himself to raise the Great Leviathan. He had only one more soul he needed, and he was just as powerful as Yami--so lets just do it, lets just raise the snake!

MAN I just realized what a euphemism this season is.

Good job, Dartz.

Course this is how he spun his story to us, but he seemed pretty surprised when the Great Leviathan gobbled him up in the first 10 minutes of the episode.

But this is the story Dartz is sticking to. He, himself, will raise the Leviathan, himself, and he is very happy with his decision that he made all by himself. I mean, Dartz has been alive for 10,000 years, and maybe he got bored of immortality.

Dartz could have done this from day 1.

What’s up, Sephiroth? Nice little uh final fantasy thing we’re doing with this lizard’s face. I really can’t unsee these uneven man boobs (like what is that angle?) but it’s fine. Dartz doesn’t need hands or...legs...he’s a dragon now, like he can just bite stuff and fly around and stuff. Can’t be that bad.

But for reals, what is the dragon’s angle here?

what is it gonna DO?

Like after everyone’s dead. Is it just gonna...float around? Fly around outer space? Enjoy the sunrise?

Like what do dragons...DO?

Anyway, I’m sure we’ll never get the answer on why the Leviathan wanted to leave the core of the Earth so stinkin bad, but maybe--just maybe--this season might actually end next episode? Maybe?

Will I actually finish this season in 2020! I might! Y’all I MIGHT!

And for anyone reading these for the first time, here’s a link to read these in chrono order

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Note

21 for the kiss prompts. because I am me LOL

Alright, so, full disclosure, this is not CS fic. I was going to write CS fic for this. i was! I had this vaguely angsty Emma gets hurt and Killian loses his mind thing happening, but then—I didn’t write that. Instead, here’s Will Scarlet gets hurt and Belle French loses her mind and it’s hockey. It’s 2,000 words! I don’t know how that happened. Anyway, the prompt here was “bloody kiss” and I love Will Scarlet with the force of a thousand suns. If you guys want to send more kiss prompts, I’m still waiting for people to respond to my emails.

“You’re mad.”

“Your powers of deduction are truly unparalleled. What gave me away, exactly?”

Will bit his lower lip. Let his teeth dig down until he tasted blood and, well—more blood, he supposed. Six stitches later, though, and there wasn’t much blood left on his face, just a pair of narrow eyes doing their best to glare a hole through his cranium and he didn’t think that was entirely possible.

Biology had never been his strong suit, really. Unless you counted hauling off and punching some rat-faced bastard on the Caps who couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut about a possible offsides that had maybe happened two periods before and they’d been winning and it was fine. Totally fine. This was his job. Punching and bruising up assholes. Just a little bit, to remind them who they were playing and what was on the line and—

It was entirely possible Belle’s eyes were not entirely human.

His face flushed. Heat raced through either one of his cheeks, threatening what he could only assume was the structural integrity of his own eyes because Will couldn’t remember when he’d decided to widen them, exactly. Just that they were starting to dry out a little bit and Ariel was going to kill him.

She’d made that very clear post-game.

There might be a two-person line to wreak havoc, now.

“You get this little pinch between your eyebrows,” Will said, leaning forward until the top of his head nearly hit the bottom of her chin, “makes it easy to tell.”

Belle huffed. Crossed her arms. Nearly punched him in the face, which would have been something close to the peak of irony at this point, and then maybe Ariel wouldn’t threaten to kill him again. No, that was wishful thinking.

It’d be a miracle if they were allowed uptown later. Ariel had probably sent out an APB, or whatever the culinary equivalent of that was. No admittance until the blood had dried off his forehead and he laid prostrate at her feet, begging forgiveness for the error of his ways.

Like hell, he would.

This was his job. He was the—

Fuck, maybe he was a goon. He hadn’t scored in a while. Not even a secondary assist, or anything. Skating at the edge of the blue line on a fledgling power play did not an All-Star make, and, well, now that he thought about it, maybe Will had started jawing first. There were mumbled insults, at least.

From him, specifically. More than once, actually.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be back here, y’know.”

The pinch got—

Pinchier. Deeper. Like a tiny, little crevice between what Will was starting to realize were meticulously cared-for eyebrows and maybe he should get a CT scan or an MRI or something because it had taken him this long to notice she was also wearing his jersey. Too-long sleeves grazed the slight bend of her knuckles, looking as if she was actively stopping herself from fisting her hands at her side and that thought wasn’t supposed to make him smile.

Still.

Will’s lips tugged up. His eyes thinned. Nose crinkled ever so slightly. Something that had been growing increasingly familiar in the last few months of the season jumped between his ribs, like little flutters of wholly imaginary wings, and she kept wearing his jersey. Kept coming to games, and that was good because they’d gotten past the labels and expectations, all of which were sky-high on the NHL’s most romance-prone hockey team.

God, maybe he wasn’t just a goon. Maybe he was a complete and total asshole.

“This is Cap’s fault,” Will announced, and he’d been ready for the pinch. He was less prepared for those eyebrows he was starting to become a tad obsessed with to soar up Belle’s forehead, past the swoop of bangs that regularly messed with his cognizant reasoning.

She scoffed. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No, but maybe when we get back to—”

“I will kick you in the shins, Scarlet, I swear to every God you can think of.”

He tried not to deflate. Really, he did. But his name seemed to crack out of her, punching the bridge of his nose like Belle had actually pulled her right arm back and her scoff was more like an exhale that time. That had never happened.

Even before. Before the labels and the attempts at setting up Killian and watching that entire season and how often he stared longing at Emma, before Regina and Locksley continued to be parents extraordinaire and the jealousy started to eat away at him. Slowly, but surely and he never talked about that, but he figured she knew because Belle knew everything and—

“Bet you twenty bucks you could name more gods than I could.”

Another sigh. A tilt of her head. It made her bangs shift. He wasn’t sure what was happening in his chest. Expanding and contracting, a painful rhythm that hurt way more than the stitches or the shitty metaphors and he was glad she’d snuck into the locker room. Will didn’t want her anywhere else.

Naming conventions, aside.

“I’m sorry—” “—I love you.”

He almost fell over. Impressive, since Will was still sitting down and his feet didn’t entirely reach the floor from that position. His jaw dropped. He hated that. Partially because it hurt and mostly because he should have been way cooler, wanted to be way cooler, but there were dots of red on his girlfriend’s cheeks and teeth digging into her lower lip, now, and he resolutely ignored the ache in his calves when he slid back to his feet.

Curling an arm around her waist, he didn’t think much about the precise way he yanked her. Forward. Directly into his chest and that didn’t leave much room to bend his knees, but Will was less concerned with specifics and the staging of this than actually getting to the good part.

The kissing part.

Plus, Belle pushed up on her toes. So, that helped.

He groaned. Loudly, like embarrassingly loud. As soon as her head tilted and he could get his mouth on hers and they were all hands and lips and whatever she was doing with her tongue, tracing the lip he’d been so intent on biting through just a few moments before. Bending his knees did give Will some more leverage. To pull her even closer, moving his arm and ignoring her soft protests.

Most of them died when he managed to get a hand under her left thigh.

She groaned. Something to be said about symmetry, Will assumed. Although he also didn’t really...care. About the saying, mostly. Not when he was melting and falling, dropping into the deep end of a pool that was a shock to his system and the best thing that had ever happened to him and she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Bar none.

Especially when she did that tongue thing.

Closing his eyes, he knew he had to tilt his head. Had to breathe and stay conscious and he didn’t want to think about the medical requirements of a professional hockey player at a time like that, but he knew consistent awareness of his surroundings was probably fairly important and the roar of triumph blaring through his brain made that a little difficult. Breathing would have to be enough for now.

“I can’t—” Belle’s shoulders heaved. Fingers dragged across the back of Will’s neck and he had to admit he was fairly impressed with her balance. Her right foot wasn’t on the ground. “Shit, I—” He pulled her lip between his teeth, tried to memorize the next hitch of her breath and he was about five-point two-three seconds away from losing his mind. Rocking his hips up was a very bad idea. He did it anyway. “Babe, I can’t think when you do that.”

Everything was spinning. He was spinning. No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t spinning. He was standing and touching and there was barely any color left in Belle’s eyes.

Pride prickled at the back of Will’s brain. Until pain joined the fray, making a glorious and unwelcome return at the precise moment he realized there was moisture on his cheek again. Warm and red and Ariel was going to kill him.

“Cap and Emma were making out in the hallway,” Will explained, “pre-game. Nothing they don’t normally do, and I don’t even think they knew I was there.”

“Is any of this supposed to make me feel better?”

He nodded. “I love you, too. Like it’s ridiculous how in love with you I am.”

Silence. As much as there could be in a locker room, at least. Water fell from shower heads a few hundred feet away, the low murmur of questions and Lucas-approved answers, squeaking sneakers and clacking heels, and the familiar sound of wheels rolling across linoleum as the equipment hampers moved down the hall.

Will took a deep breath.

Slowly, through his nose. Keeping the nerves off his face was harder than he expected, and even more ridiculous than whatever he’d just proclaimed because Belle had proclaimed first and it was entirely possible they were both colossal idiots. That put them on even ground, though.

He appreciated that.

“Why were you mad, ma moitié?”

There was the pinch, again. “Why do you think?” Will shook his head, brushing hair away from her eyes and he knew he didn’t imagine that sigh, either. Softer. More content. All that previous even ground. “Because I—” Belle started, and the color hadn’t left her face yet. “I know you think you’ve got to be this guy. Out there defending, not just the goal but the people and that’s...I’m super into that.”

“But?”

“But it makes me so nervous, I could spit.’

Will genuinely had no idea what noise he made. It might not have been human, really. Tearing out of his throat, his eyes bugged and he bent over without really meaning to, forehead finding Belle’s shoulder like that was the only reasonable landing place. He was still bleeding. Or bleeding again, whatever.

“Say that again,” he mumbled. Into her jersey. His jersey. Whatever, part two.

“Spit,” she repeated, making sure to enunciate every letter, “because I know you can hold your own in a fight, and that’s how you think you make a difference on this team, but—”

“It is that’s why.”

“Was my shin-kicking threat not threatening?”

He kissed exactly where his lips were. “Not really, no.”

“‘Cuz I’ll totally do it, I swear. To all those gods and goddesses and then they’ll descend from on high and tell you that they also think you’re an idiot who should know that letting some rat on the ice get under your skin is exactly what they’re trying to do. Plus, it’s way better when you check them, y’know?”

Lifting his head didn’t hurt. Made him a little nervous, anxiety churning his gut and this was not the way Will thought this would happen. Maybe he could get Belle to kick Killian too. For the making out. And the unspoken frustration. He was definitely an idiot. “Is it just?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Don’t have to. You’re very easy to read.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. More. “That so?’

“You think it’s super attractive when I check another dude.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to. Also, I love you.”

“You mentioned that before, yeah.”

“And I am sorry for freaking you out.” Sigh number three wasn’t quite as resigned as the others, but it still left guilt rising in the back of Will’s throat and every single inch of him froze. As soon as Belle leaned around him, grabbed a far-too-large handful of gauze and started wiping blood off his cheek. “That’s way too much, babe.”

“Ariel can deal.”

“Ya gonna kick her too?”

“I’ll consider it,” Belle mumbled, back on both feet again. For, like, two seconds. Before she pushed back up on her toes, kissed the corner of Will's mouth, and added, “Don’t do that to me again, ok?”

“Aye, aye, Cap.”

He had much better reflexes than her. Pulling her back to his side before either one of her shoes could land a blow was easy and bordering almost close to joyful and that was a strange thing for him to be, but it was also easy and somehow even more simple and Ariel let them into the restaurant that night. They stayed for all of fifteen minutes.

And Will told Belle he loved her once every five minutes on the cab ride back to his apartment.

He timed it, and everything. Just to make sure the color stayed in her cheeks.

#kiss prompts #blue line one shots #WILL AND BELLE SUPREMACY #this was becuase the rangers won last night and i was feeling hockey-prone #so it's really the rangers fault #optomisticgirl #laura rambles

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atomicblasphemy · 3 years

Text

7 x 1

After the worse defeat in Banshees history, the players try to process the loss. And Boscha learns of her new responsibilities to the team.

“Okay guys, I know… Today didn’t… Go as planned. But we have to keep our heads held high right now, next season is around the corner and...”

Last time something like this happened people were burning Hexside jerseys and flags in the streets.

“Boscha...”

Last time something like this happened riots broke out through Bonesborough.

“Please… I know you’re the captain and all that, but...”

Last time something like this happened the Emperor himself had to step in, declare a state of emergency in the whole realm.

“Just shut up.”

And last time, years before any of the current players in the Banshees were even born, the humiliation was nowhere near what they experienced today. Semifinals, home-field. No, this hadn’t been mere humiliation, humiliation was what that Half-a-Witch and Amity – along with that… human – did to them that other day. This, this was tragedy. Epiderme’s team were not witches, they were machines, that’s the only explanation Boscha could come up with. And that didn’t convince her, not one bit.

Normally, Boscha wouldn’t stand for Skara’s insubordination. It would be bad enough it they weren’t wearing the Banshees’ uniform. Still at the end of the day she was her best friend, that granted her some privileges. Now, however, they were in their uniforms and Boscha was the captain. All fight had left her after Epiderme’s third goal, however. And what they heard and saw from the many fans wearing their blue and yellow colors didn’t help her to get some optimism back.

The four of them were alone in the dressing room, Skara’s voice lacking any sass, let alone alone her usual bubbliness. Off to the side, a few feet away, Cat tried to debatable success to console a still softly sobbing Amelia. “I only wanted to bring my people joy” the crying girl moaned over and over, in a lower volume every time. None of them could actually look at each other. None of them could start to point fingers and throw blame around, not yet at least.

Worse part was that should they have kept playing the way they did up to that fulminant counter-attack that resulted in Epiderme’s first goal they could have won. They dominated the first ten minutes or so of the game, barely giving any breathing room for their adversaries. Then the first goal came and whatever motivation, that old flame, they still harbored vanished. Their tactics broke down. But tactics was a generous way of putting it. Only a madman would have Skara in a starting position, and those were her own words in the locker room after each and every training session.

And it was the wrong moment for this sort of thing to happen to Hexside. The scandalous decision to have a human exchange student was just the tip of the iceberg. The school as a whole was ongoing a slump of sorts, under-performing in academic and sportive competitions alike. While once upon a time parents would enroll their children as soon as they knew they were expecting, Glandus and the other schools serving as something of a plan B, now Hexside was turning into this second echelon. Some, like Boscha herself, would place the blame on Bump’s somewhat erratic methods. His stubbornness in one hand, his weird pedagogic gambles on the other, and, of course, his rotten finger when it came to picking staff. Today’s tragedy was but a symptom of a more pervasive condition, that was her conclusion.

But Bump wasn’t the sole culprit here was he, Boscha? The time for pointing fingers arrived.

“Guys… I… We all are to blame here…”

Before continuing, the captain was cut off by the striker, the striker that for just the third time ever started a game in the bleachers. The one that was still trying to console the left fielder.

“Are we? Are we really though? I mean, four of seven goals came from your side of the field, the side you were the one supposed to be defending.”

Boscha’s mouth stopped in it’s tracks, she couldn’t refute her friend. Sure, she could throw her usual words to get her back to her place beneath her. But today wasn’t the day for something like that.

“Cat, back off a bit, will you? We all are feeling the same way, and it was the first time she played that position.”

“Come on Skara, you know I’m right. She is all talk before the game, but now she just won’t act like a captain. That’s a cap out.”

Skara, leaving out a tired sigh looked Cat in the eyes and, carefully, rebutted.

“Look, all I’m saying is that nothing good can come from this argument. Seriously. It wasn’t Boscha’s fault alone. Heck, we all really have a share of the blame.”

Cat just huffed. “Wish we got Willow instead”, she muttered under her breath.

“HEY!”

“DON’T HEY ME, BOSCHA!”

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK, RIGHT NOW!”

“NEVER!”

Amelia gingerly placed a hand on Cat’s shoulder. The girl’s anger seeming to seethe, she lifts both her hands, open, in front of her face. Looking down, avoiding the captain, she sits down.

They all sit there, silent, for a long time. Amelia’s sobs subsiding. Cat’s muscles relaxing as she calms herself down. Skara looking straight ahead, studying Boscha’s void expression.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

Cat finally let out.

“Sure… Just don’t do that again.”

The mood around Hexside and the whole town, at least the part that rooted for Hexside, had been optimistic since the tournament started. It had been a while since the Banshees had this amount of support. It wasn’t because they had a particularly prodigious roaster. They were okay, but far from capable of overwhelming any qualified opponents. No, the reason for the optimism was simply due to that being the first time a single school was hosting all matches. A series of – rather suspicious one might say - beast attacks prevented the other schools from hosting any events, the only option the league had was to have Hexside receive all the spotlights. It would be the first time in history Glandus and Epiderme would host Grom Night outside their premises, and together no less, as to be able to afford the venue’s rent.

And Bump took as much advantage of the roll of the dice as possible, it was the school’s first chance in years to shift their decaying image and more then a few conspiracy theories were floating around the hallways and streets. And if the spotlights were on Hexside, on the Banshees, then all that means was that they also were on Boscha, on the team’s glorious, spectacular, competent captain.

This had been the game with the most press coverage any of them ever played. The stands were filled to the brim. The colors of blue and yellow taking over taking over the stands, the shouts of support bordering on overwhelming. Boscha was born for a day like this, her underlings were visibly anxious. But not her, she knew the only possible was victory, confirmation of who she was. If the arena had been a chocolate box she’d devour it in one bite. And as any captain would, she tried to convey to the rest of the team what she was feeling. They could not mess this up for her, it was important that they remembered that, but it was also important that they remembered that the four of them combined were far superior than Epiderme’s team, despite them being on an undeniable winning streak and being traditionally one of the most competitive teams in all of Bonesborough or even the whole Isles, much like the Banshee’s themselves. Matches between those two were always neck to neck, often ending in draws with few scored goals, if any. The coach echoed Boscha’s position thoroughly, he was after all the one that led up to about a fifth of Hexside’s many titles. Him being the one on the side lines was maybe the main cause for optimism among fans, he came back from retirement just for this season after all. His professional image was on the line much like Boscha’s. Both were confident they managed to convey the importance of the game to the pale looking girls.

“Where’s coach, by the way?” Boscha asked, breaking the silence.

“Scolari? No idea.” Skara answered.

“Last time I saw him he was storming off, saying something about how the press kept on ganging up on him or whatever. Pretty sure he left before punches started flying.” Cat continued.

“Oh...”

Having calmed down, Amelia now browsed her scroll seeming oblivious to the others’ conversation.

Eleven minutes. A shock with Epiderme’s first goal, but that came with the nature of the game. All they had to do was to make a goal of their one and they would be back in equal footing, Boscha doing her best to ignore the many ways she could have avoided that score, Skara and Amelia looking lost but trying to muster on some determination. Twenty three minutes, the difference increases. Twenty four, Boscha fails again. Twenty six, they would need to put up the best performance in Banshees’ history to turn this into so much as a draw, the stands growing deafeningly silent, Boscha failed again. Twenty nine minutes, Boscha failed again, the other team looking ever so slightly less enthusiastic in their celebrations. This couldn’t be real.

As they left the field after the referee declared the end of the last half she saw, they all saw, the booing, crying, lost faces in the audience. That illusions track kid, one third of the human’s trio, clenching those flags to his chest hugging them like a baby while his father tried prying questions about their performance from Scolari. This all felt like a dream, Boscha was just not capable of failing this badly, she was just not capable of belief herself capable of this kind of failure. And she couldn’t wake up.

“Hey… They are making a live interview on Penstagram. Epiderme’s team, I mean.” Amelia finally said, seeming to get back into the conversation.

The other three just look at her, expectantly. Taking that as something of a confirmation she raises her scroll’s volume.

“… shocked too. We didn’t expect the game to go as it did. Hexside, the Banshees, they did so much for Grudgby. I mean, so many of their old players are personal heroes to anyone who loves this sport. So yeah, we didn’t want to humiliate them, we have a ton of respect for their team so during the break we all agreed to take a bit of a step back, you know, show proper respect to their history. We are proud of winning, but not of how we won. So we tried to keep our heads on the game and we were lucky enough to score twice more. Here’s to hoping they can manage to fix the problems they’re having right now. The sport deserves and needs the Banshees we’ve always known back. Now we gotta start thinking about who we might face in the finals. Both teams...”

Amelia turned her scroll off. They heard all they needed.

How kind of them.

The uncomfortable silence in the locker room only grew louder.

With the game undeniably settled by a seven neill score half way throw the second half the stands steadily grew more and more empty. Only a few of the fans still there to see Cat score their consolation goal after replacing Skara. They only managed to do something resembling sport again in the very last minute. Those few last fans alternating between boos and supportive chants about “Hexside pride”, but the cheers were so timid might as well not have happened at all. Boscha would take the former over the implicit pity of the ladder any time.

Before today, the Banshees were known as the best Grudgby team in Bonesborough’s history. Whether this title would now go to Epiderme or someone else Boscha didn’t know. But it was high time she made peace with the fact it wasn’t theirs anymore. That she was the captain during the team’s - no, the sports’ - greatest fiasco. But Boscha was stubborn, she still wouldn’t take this hit alone.

Before she could dwell further, Amelia asks a question that seemed to be burning on everyone else’s minds.

“What now?”

“What you mean?” Boscha can’t turn to see her as she asks.

“Well, Boscha… You’re the captain… You are the one who decides. We have been talking though… Before the game, I mean. For a few days actually.” Skara, the second in command was the one to ask.

“I’ll figure something out… Wait, you’ve been talking? About what?”

“Yeah… Sorry about going behind your back… You just seemed so, I dunno, hyped. It was kinda cute and we really didn’t want to make you worry, but...”

“But we been kinda expecting something like this to happen actually. I mean, we wanted to believe your speeches... But yeah… So…”

Cat was the one to continue, every word both from her and Skara were deliberate. They had known each other for so long, was she really the type of friend that called for this type of carefulness when breaking bad news? Was this the kind of stuff that made the Blight leave their click? She shouldn’t be thinking about any of that, not right now.

“Okay then… Stop dancing around the issue and give it to me straight.”

“Well, that will be a bit hard” Amelia, showing some agency said to the curt nods of agreement from the other two. “But, I guess the main thing is the leadership style we’ve been having. Not you, not just you. But… coach was… tough, and pretty boneheaded… I mean, we all tried to convince him that Skara should not be a starting player, that she is our fastest player sure, but she hasn’t the endurance for the whole game, she can pull off counterattacks, so she should always enter later when the other guys are already too tired to keep up. I mean, that’s how we always played and it always worked well enough. But no. He wanted to use the same tactics as he used way back when. Anyway… I guess my point is I think, we all think he’s the first and foremost culprit. And well, I mean, I guess you didn’t really… help… But…” The desperate girl shoots pleading glances to both Cat and Skara.

“Look, all we are trying to say is: your leadership style is not exactly the best for a captain, and his is definitely not the best for a coach. We know it, you know it I guess, Bump knows it, the fans know it, literally everyone knows it. So… We figured a few changes need to be made.”

Cat, with a rather coy tone of voice, took the lead again. For whatever reason there always seemed to a silent agreement between the four of them that she should always be the one to break the bad news, especially when Boscha was to be the recipient. Like that one time when Amity had to cancel their sleepover. Even those outside their tight social circle seemed to acknowledge this, like that time when the professor had Cat be the one to announce to Boscha she was on the brink of failing her Into to Beast Keeping class. Despite Skara being her closest friend, Cat was the better one at disarming the captain.

Of course, in a time like this this only sounded ominous. But something else was bugging her.

“What you mean my leadership style?”

“Boscha, come one. I mean, seriously. Do you really think yelling ‘do this or that for me’, or ‘my legacy as a Grudgy player depends on you’...”

“Don’t forget the classic ‘I swear to Titan guys, you can’t mess this up’.” Skara commented.

“Or ‘If we lose today because of you I’ll haunt all of you in your sleep. See you in your worst nightmares.’” Amelia added.

“Yeah… Do you really think any of that helps? As a captain, as someone that’s on the field with us?” Cat finally finished.

“Come on… You know I wasn’t being serious right? I can’t be that bad...”

As she watched her fellow Banshees trading wary glances with one another, Boscha just sat and waited. With none of them saying anything, she chose to get back to the main topic.

“In any case… What do you mean change?”

“Well… You see. Here’s the thing. This leadership style of yours… It isn’t entirely ineffective. Titan knows we wouldn’t have passed the quarter-finals without this… Rough nudge… And it actually is better than what coach has been giving us since day one. I mean, you both were always essentially saying the same things but at least with you we have a bit, at least a bit, of reason to actually care, a bit. Sooo… We were thinking… And we talked to Bump about this already… Again… Sorry for going behind your back on this one… He said it isn’t entirely impossible… But you kinda have to be the one giving the last say...”

“Can you please, for the love of the Titan, just say it already?”

“Boscha.” Uncharacteristic firmness in her voice, Skara called her friends name. “We want you as the Banshee’s next coach.”

“WHAT?”

“We want you as the Banshee’s next coach.” She repeated with the exact same voice tone, not even a semblance of wavering or stuttering.

“I heard that… But… Doesn’t the league forbids it?”

“It does… But there’s a loophole in the rules.”

“A loophole?”

“Yeah, it means the rule book wasn’t all that well written and that there are specific ways to interpret it so we can do something that would otherwise not be allowed.”

“I KNOW WHAT THE WORD MEANS… I just… What, pray tell, is this loophole?”

“Well… You see, according to Bump, all it says is that in order for someone to be a coach they need to be a part of the school’s staff, as in an employee of the school, pay check and all. It doesn’t say anywhere that they can’t also be a student at the school in question.” Cat took back hold of the conversation, sending shivers down Boscha’s spine.

“So… What are you saying is that I will become a teacher or something before graduating? How would that work? I also still to play, you know.”

“We’ll get to that last part eventually… Anyway… I said staff, not faculty. You wouldn’t get any classes, according to Bump… So… You know Kyle right? That old janitor that was working at Hexside even before our parents went there? He is needing a break, according to Bump. He just can’t handle full time work there anymore and… Well… Bump has been scrambling to find a suitable replacement.”

“...”

“You see… Kyle’s... specialty... is actually illusions. Now that I think about that kinda explains why so many of our classrooms smell like mold. But anyway… So… The best case scenario for Bump would be to hire someone more capable at potion making. You know, someone who could make and use appropriately all the cleaning potions… Aaannd. Well… That’s pretty much what you’d be doing?”

“Oh… Just that, huh? You say it like it’s ‘just’ that. Like it’s nothing. I have an image to keep, you know?”

“I know, I know… Look. It would be just a part time thing. Besides, you’d mostly just be cleaning the bathrooms. All you’d need to do is to put up a sign, shut the door, and no one would even know you’re there. And you’d be getting paid. Sure, not a lot but something. So yeah, Junior Janitor Assistant.”

“You know there’s no way I’ll agree to that, don’t you Cat?”

Skara stands up, slowly stepping closer to Boscha, her eyes never leaving the captain’s. She kneels down in front of her friend, her oldest friend. She places a place in the witch’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Boscha, I’m not happy to ask you this, the girls aren’t happy with it either. Heck, I think that if Bump was here he wouldn’t be happy about it either. But the truth of the matter is that we need you, Hexside needs you, the Banshees need you… to clean some very, very clogged toilets.”

“Why can’t one of you guys do that?”

“Because you are the leader. This should be obvious, Boscha. You are the leader and we follow you. But this time… This time for you to lead us… You’ll need to clean some extremely dirty toilets. And yes… This does include that one on the second floor that has been closed off for a couple of years for mysterious reasons. Bump was clear on that part.”

“This is a joke right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Boscha?”

Skara was right, all their faces revealed nothing but the utmost seriousness of their predicament. The kneeling girl continued.

“Either you do that or, and this is what Bump told us, we’ll have to ask Bob.”

“Bob?”

“Bob.”

“A Bob.”

“THE Bob.” The girl solemnly shock her head from side to side.

The madness in Skara’s words was impossible.

“Bob Bob?”

“Bob. Bob Bob.”

The room grew silent as the concept sunk into Boscha’s mind. After a long moment of disturbing quietude she finally mustered the much needed courage.

“No… No… We can’t have that.” A deep sigh, all her eyes looking even further defeated. “Fine… I’ll do it… But people can’t know about it, I swear. This is between me, you girls, and Bump.”

“And Kyle.”

“Yeah, sure. Kyle. No one else.”

“Promise.” They all said in unison. Amelia timidly complemented. “Thanks, Boscha. We can visit you during your shifts if you want.”

Deadpanned, Boscha responded.

“You guys just want to watch me humiliating myself, don’t you?”

“NONONONONO… No… No… Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous… No...”

“Sure… Sure…”

“And look.” Cat said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Bump even said he can make it look as though you’re just doing office work. Anyway… You start on Tuesday and your shifts are on the afternoons.”

“Tuesday? Isn’t that the day the Human said she take over the kitchen and make us… what was it? Tacos? She seemed pretty pretty worried about the ingredients and how we’d… agree to them… whatever that means… Can’t I start literally any other day?”

“Nope… Bump was adamant - yes, Bump - it has to be on Tuesday. This Tuesday to be more specific. Yup, Tuesday you’ll start on your new job. And we’ll be there… Cheering you on. Yes, cheering.”

“Well...” A stoically empty façade on her face, Boscha continues. “Could be worse I guess… I don’t know how it could be worse, but yeah… Too bad I’ll have to stop playing though… I’ll miss it.”

Skara, a small and sincere grin forming on her lips.

“Not necessarily… The rule book doesn’t say anything about the coach also playing either.”

“REALLY?”

Finally some good news came Boscha’s way. She couldn’t find it in her to contain the sudden burst of excitement.

“Yeah, really.” Skara continued. “But…”

“There’s a caveat, should be obvious really. Have you ever coached anything before Boscha? It isn’t the same as being captain. You’d need some time learning to do it, not to mention all the adjustments you’ll need to make in our training plans, tactics, and so on… So… You’d eventually be able to carry on both role, but not right from the go… In the mean time you’ll need to find someone who can replace you… Temporarily, of course.” Said Cat.

“Oh no… Nonononono. Don’t you even think about suggesting that. I know where this is going and NO. Absolutely not.”

“Boscha… You know well enough who is the person in all of Hexside that’s most suited for the job.”

“No, that’s going too far. I am not asking her, anyone else. Even the human.”

“Boscha… You need to give up on your pride. You need to ask Willow to join our team. To join us. It is the only way. Together, all of us will make a team that will conquer all adversaries.”

“No. That’s impossible. I’ll never do that.”

“Look into your heart, Boscha. You know this is the only way.”

“Nooooo...” She whimpered… This was her least favorite part of today. So far at least.

But it was a losing battle and she stood alone.

“Fine… I’ll do it.. I’ll ask the Half-a-Witch to join the team...”

“Willow.”

“What?” Boscha growled. Low, menacingly.

“You’re not asking the Half-a-Witch to join the team.” Cat stated matter of factly, defiantly even. “You are asking Willow. Boscha… It’ll be a negotiation. You’ll to need convince her to join us, to flex all of your… charisma… on her. You can’t do that if just go around insulting her all the time.”

“But… Come on, I get why I need to be the coach instead of any of you. But why this? Why do I have to be the one to this.”

The answer came immediately.

“Because you’re pretty much the main reason why she’d refuse.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement as clear as day.

“I… Fair enough… Fair enough. You know what? I’m the captain in the worst defeat in Banshees history, my reputation is probably all gone, and today I also learned I’ll have to clean toilets on a daily basis. What is another loss compared to all this. I can do this. I can do this… I… I can do this. I mean, even I can admit I don’t have much face left to save. So yeah, let’s just get this over with then. I’m gonna shoot her. A TEXT. I’m gonna shoot her a text, Titan danmit you don’t need to look at me like that. Anyway, does anyone have her number?”

“Sure” Came all three voices, Skara and Cat reaching for their scrolls.

“Seriously, all of you? I can understand Amelia, but you two as well? You know what, you know what? I don’t care. Nope, I don’t care at all. I’m serene, beautiful, powerful young witch that doesn’t care about stuff like that anymore.”

“Don’t you think you should, I don’t know, do this in person?” Skara ignores Boscha’s remark.

“I will. Just gotta set up a meeting with her or whatever, get off my back.”

“Sure… Look, we’re here to help, you don’t need to get all snappy like that.”

“Skara, I swear to Titan… Just give me her number already.”

She, with her lovely lovely friends’ assistance, manages to write a short, to the point, message to the Half-a… Willow. She messaged Willow. It was a polite, some might even call elegant, thing. She didn’t dwell on it, not on the text, all of the girls were insistent on that being something she’d have to do when face-to-face with Willow, but she tried to convey some degree of repentance over her previous treatment of the girl. Her hopes of it being effective were slim to non-existent.

All done, she remains sat on the bench. She remains there for a long while, the silence returning to the dressing room as the other, concerned, members of the Banshees watched her, waiting for her next move. Head downcast, jaw clenched tight, rubbing her closed middle eye with a couple fingers she tries to process the day. Finally, through gritted teeth, she lets out.

“Guys… I hate you… I hate each and every one of you.”

Had Boscha been looking at them she would have seen their relieved smiles, or maybe even the quick wink Cat shot Skara, who nodded in response before answering the former captain.

“We love you too, Boscha. Now. Come on, lets get out of here. We still have to face the music.”

“Titan...” Boscha said, standing up. “I almost forgot about that… I guess we have no choice, do we?”

“Nope, not at all.”

“Lets get this over with then.”

As they left the dressing room together, as a team, Boscha felt the scroll in her back pocket vibrating. She grumbled at the thought of her future. “For the Banshees”, she thought, less than enthusiastically.

#THE OWL HOUSE #toh boscha #toh skara #toh Luiz Felipe Scolari #toh #toh cat #toh amelia #2014 FIFA world cup #huehuehue #fuck fifa fuck cbf #too klose to home #not my best stuff i think but eh... whatever better just post it than leave it collecting dust i guess

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bikkinibottom · 4 years

Text

Can’t Walk Without You

Here’s a little something I wrote to celebrate 100 followers! I got the idea based off of this post here.

This is my first time writing fanfic so I’d love for some feedback! Hope you all enjoy it!

Summary: It’s the 90’s and Percy makes mixtapes for Annabeth. She listens to them when she misses him.

She took it with her everywhere now, constantly listening to whichever song that played through the Walkman. It got to the point where even if she was having a conversation or in a meeting, the headphones rested around her neck playing music just loud enough for her to still hear and whoever happened to be right next to her. Some may call it rude, but people knew to never question Annabeth, especially with everything going on now.

Annabeth remembers the first mixtape Percy had made for her when they were fourteen. It was not too long after the battle on Mount Othrys where Percy and the group had rescued her and the goddess Artemis from Luke’s imprisonment. She smiles fondly too herself as she remembers the encounter with Percy:

Christmas was just around the corner and Annabeth begrudgingly decided to spend the holiday with her family in San Francisco. Percy and she had agreed to meet up to exchange gifts at Half-Blood Hill before she left. She stood near the Big House, which was adorned in colorful holiday lights, waiting for him. Behind her led to where the cabins were, the hearth at the center of the U-shaped formation seemed to glow brighter than ever, warm and inviting just like a fireplace at Christmas-time should be. The sky was clear save for a few clouds, the constellations piercing and bright. Fresh snow lay all over camp, some of the year-rounders just beginning to take advantage of the fresh snowfall. She looked up to see Percy approaching her, his ears looked pink without a hat on from what she could tell in the dim light.

‘Seaweed Brain’ she thought, thinking of the winter hat she knit him for his gift. It was a simple beanie that was baby blue, with one black stripe cutting across.

“Took you long enough. I got a flight to catch tomorrow, Seaweed Brain,” she jokingly said to him.

Clearly something else was occupying his mind because the scowl he attempted to make wasn’t sincere and looked more like fond exasperation. Annabeth tried not to look too into it.

He stopped walking and begun to turn around dramatically.

“Well if you’re gonna have that attitude about it I’ll just be on my-” but Annabeth cut him off with a laugh and shoved his arm.

“Come on, Percy. I’ve been waiting for this,” she told him with a bit of mock irritation in her voice.

“You have?” the boy before her asked timidly. And for the first time that night, Annabeth noticed Percy actually looked anxious for whichever reason she could not figure out yet. His eyes looked more of a golden from the reflection of the Christmas lights shining off the Big House.

Annabeth looked away from his eyes as she casually said, “Duh, we’re exchanging gifts. It’s like the best part of the holiday season,” though she wasn’t too sure of her response seeing the gloomy expression take over his face.

Percy looked away as he let out a simple, “Right.”

Not wishing to dampen the mood on what was supposed to be a pleasant occasion, Annabeth quickly asks, “Do you want to go first?”

“Uh, I- no. You go first,” he responded quickly as well.

Annabeth presented him with his gift bag filled with sea-green tissue paper and he dug around in it until he pulled out the gift card she had gotten him. He flipped it over to see what it was for and he smiled appreciatively.

“That’s the skate store you go to a lot right? The one by your apartment?” she asked just to double-check and make sure.

“Yeah! I- Thanks Annabeth,” he told her genuinely then paused. “Uh, how much is on it?”

“A hundred dollars,” she replied.

His eyes seemed to pop out of his head before he stuttered for the next few seconds. Annabeth just looked at him with a confused but amused smile on her face.

“This- this is more than enough for a whole new skateboard. I- I don’t think I can accept this,” he blurted out in shock.

“Skateboards are expensive. I thought that was a good amount,” she said matter-of-factly. Annabeth had briefly forgotten that Percy and his mom didn’t have a whole lot, meanwhile, her family was more than well off and Annabeth could afford to splurge on her friends.

“There’s another gift in the bag,” she pointed out.

He gave her an incredulous look before digging around in the bag. He pulled out the beanie wrapped in a layer of tissue paper and unwrapped it. He held out the hat in front of him with a neutral expression.

“You hardly ever wear a hat, let alone own a proper winter one so I figured you could use a nice one. I made it myself,” she said, her voice laced with pride. It had taken her a couple of tries to knit a hat before she managed to perfect it. Athena wasn’t the goddess of crafts for nothing. Annabeth was proud of her handiwork.

“You made this?” he asked softly. The tender look in his eyes made Annabeth’s face a little warm but she nodded genuinely.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Annabeth said. “It’s your turn.”

“O- oh. Right.” Percy cleared his throat and placed the gift bag on the snowy ground with his presents inside. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card with a smaller rectangular box attached to it. Annabeth didn’t know what the box could be seeing as it was wrapped but she opened the card and read it to herself first.

The card itself didn’t have many words and with the low-lighting, she couldn’t exactly make it out with her dyslexia. But underneath the message of the card, she noticed Percy’s chicken scratch hand-writing where he wrote out in Ancient Greek, ‘Hope you have a good new year. Merry Christmas, Wise Girl. Your friend, Percy’.

She smiled up at him and gave him a sweet thank you.

“Um, the uh, the gift. I made it myself. I don’t know if you’ll like it but um, if you give it back I understand. It’s kind of lame, actually-” Percy stammered out, and she could tell the red on his face wasn’t coming from the Christmas lights. With a roll of her eyes, she tore open the wrapping and was presented with a cassette player. Written on one side in Percy’s hand-writing it said: ‘Songs I Think You’ll Like (vol. 1)’.

“It’s a mixtape,” Percy blurted out, “I was thinking about how we’ve barely ever talked about music so I put a bunch of songs I figured you’d like. You can listen to it whenever you want.”

Annabeth was at a loss for words. Picturing Percy in his room toiling with the radio on, waiting for hours for the right song to come on to record, or maybe using some of Sally’s old records to record music from... It was a little too much for Annabeth.

Impulsively she jumped towards Percy, wrapping her arms around his neck in a quick hug. Backing away she looked him in the eyes.

“Thank you, I love it,” she told him. At that point, she didn’t need a mirror to know that both their faces were red now.

“Really?” he asked, relief in his voice and body language.

“Yes, I can’t wait to listen to it,” she answered genuinely.

A goofy smile broke out onto his face and Annabeth felt herself smiling as well. After talking for a bit more, they eventually said their goodbyes and parted ways.

As Annabeth boarded the plane the next morning, she had a brand new Walkman stuffed in her pocket that she had bought as soon as she left the campgrounds last night. She couldn’t wait to listen to it on the plane.

Recalling the memory brought a melancholy smile to her face, but it was very dim. Annabeth remembers how nearly every month after that she received a mixtape from Percy in the mail, each with a different purpose but all equally good. When they had started dating, the music became a lot more romantic and he would gift her one at each monthly anniversary. She would’ve received a new mixtape soon for their five-month anniversary, but now he was missing and Annabeth wasn’t sure if she’d ever get to hear it. The thought made her chest ache painfully, and she blinked back tears.

Rolling onto her back in her bunk, Annabeth thought back to the events of the day and let out a frustrated sigh. Just when she finally had some type of lead to where her boyfriend might be, she was met with three demigods at the Grand Canyon with more questions than answers. Not to mention her least favorite goddess seemed to be involved in all of this somehow. Realizing she needed to get actual sleep tonight if she was going to leave early in the morning to search for Percy, the daughter of Athena put on her invisibility cap, grabbed her Walkman, and snuck out of Cabin 6 to head over to Cabin 3.

Inhaling the ocean scent that Poseidon’s cabin had, Annabeth made her way over to Percy’s dresser, where he always kept extra clothes. Grabbing one of his hoodies, she put it on and laid down in Percy’s bunk. It wasn’t the biggest secret amongst her siblings that she would often sneak out to his cabin at night but since he went missing she made it her new unassigned sleeping quarters.

If the bed weren’t cold, Annabeth could almost imagine Percy there with her. Surrounding herself in his ocean breeze scent helped put her to sleep but there was some dull ache lingering inside her tonight. It was as if there was nothing inside her; her heart, her lungs, everything just- gone. Instead, a dark void seemed to eat at her from the inside out, and all of her senses felt numb.

Putting on her headphones and pressing play on the Walkman, her favorite cassette plays out. Once they’d started dating, Percy gave her this one and told her the songs sounded a bit like the one they had danced to on Olympus all those years ago. She recalls Percy telling her that to him the song sounded a bit sad, but a little hopeful too.

Annabeth cries herself to sleep that night.

#i didn't say it was gonna be happy LOL #not sorry #i've had this stuck in my head for a while #my writing #percabeth fic #percabeth #oneshot #pjo #hoo #ttc #tlh #percy jackson #annabeth chase #fanfiction #erica writes

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banshee1013 · 4 years

Text

Suptober Day 22 - But I Know That I Love You So

Well, this is it - the last one I managed to finish both art and fic for during the month of October, and it’s at a pretty good stopping point. There are 2 others where the fic is done but not the art, and two additional ones in the planning stages, all which will be released when they’re done. The Masterpost will be published tomorrow, and then updated with AO3 tags as they’re posted there.

Please forgive this last one - I’m still learning to draw people and not that great at it. That’s why there were so many inanimate objects, still life, and hands HAHA. Something to get better at for next year!

So, I hope you enjoy this last installment! Thanks again to @winchester-reload for hosting this challenge again, and I look forward to having the time now to check out everyone else’s amazing work! You’re ALL ROCK STARS.

Overall Title: The Road Less Traveled

Overall Rating: Mature (may change to Explicit, we’ll see how it goes)

Tags: Castiel/Dean, mention of Sam/Eileen, Post-Season 15, ExAngel!Cas, MostlyRetiredHunter!Dean, Road Trip

(Note: all ficlets are unbeta’d. At the end of the month, I’ll wrap up whatever I manage to get written, clean it up, get it beta’d, and post to AO3. So please pardon any mistakes!)

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN - BUT I KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU SO

Words: 1797

“Baby, we need to talk,”

Dean’s eyes bore into his, earnest, wide with concern and not a small amount of fear.

A small thread of worry wormed its way around his heart from that statement, the look in his eyes. But the increasing amount of shivering he feels through their clasped hands is far more of a problem at the moment.

“Yes, of course… but Dean, you’re shivering.” He gently disengages a hand from Dean’s, using the other to pull him towards the bathroom and the shower there.

“Cas, I… “ Dean starts but cuts himself off as Cas pulls the shower door back to turn on the water. “W-what’s g-g-going on?”

Cas pivots back to Dean, quickly stripping him of his wet clothes, Dean’s shivering increasing. The clothes are tossed in the corner, and he turns again to check the temperature of the water, which is starting to steam up the mirror over the sink. Turning it down a little so as to not scald him, he urges Dean into the shower.

“You need to warm up or you’ll catch a cold,” Castiel says, gently pushing him under the spray, and begins to close the shower door when Dean’s hand grasps his wrist.

“Cas, g-get in h-here with me, you’re w-w-wet too.”

Dean does have a point, Castiel notices, looking down at his own dripping clothes beginning to form a pool of water beneath him, his own shivers amplifying. He eyes the tiny tub, the showerhead just barely reaching the back of Dean’s neck and a mere few feet of room left. “The shower is too small for both of us.” He does begin to remove his sodden clothing, however, tossing it in the corner of the bathroom to join Dean’s. He’ll have to hang them up after their showers in hopes they’ll be dry enough to pack in the morning. “The steam from the shower will warm me.” He closes the bathroom door to trap even more of the warmth.

But Dean is nothing if not persistent. “Cas, c’mon, we’ll make it work.” The shower is having its desired effect, at least, as his voice is no longer shaking. The insistent tone gives way to one more pleading. “Please, Cas? I need to talk to you.”

Castiel cannot deny him anything, especially when said in that tone of voice. He acquiesces, climbing into the shower, and is immediately pulled under the spray and into Dean’s arms.

“There, much better, am I right?”

It’s very hard to deny, the warmth of the water and Dean’s proximity chasing away his own shivering. He ducks to allow the water to run over his head, warming him fully before spinning Dean carefully around, urging his head under the water as well.

Dean sputters, pulling his head out from under the water. “Okay, okay, I’m good now.” He brushes the excess water from his face, then places a palm on Castiel’s shoulder, the other cupping his jaw, lifting his face to meet Dean’s eyes. The hint of concern is back, and the thread of worry around his heart pulls taut.

“Cas, we need to…” he pauses, closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath before continuing. “I need to talk to you about what I asked you the other day.”

The thread of worry snaps and Castiel’s heart plummets into the pit forming in his stomach.

This is where his worst fears come true - where Dean confirms it was a mistake, that he didn’t mean to say those words, to ask that question. He pulls his gaze away from Dean’s, staring at the wall over his shoulder.

At least any dampness that may appear on his cheeks can be explained away by the condensation from the shower.

“I.. I understand, Dean. It’s quite alright,” he hears himself say, as from a great distance.

“No... no Cas, you don’t.” Dean’s voice all but vibrates with apprehension - of course; Dean does care for him, and he’s a kind person, not one to willingly inflict harm - “I meant every word.”

Castiel blinks rapidly, not trusting his hearing. “Excuse me?” His eyes fall back on Dean’s, searching.

Dean’s eyes are open and honest, but he sighs morosely. “I meant every word… but God, how I wish it hadn’t come out like that.” He gives him a wan smile, his eyes falling away. “That was such a lame way to ask you.”

Castiel’s head tilts in confusion. “I’m.. not sure what you mean?”

Dean’s head is still lowered, but Castiel can still see the flush spreading across his cheeks, the embarrassment in his voice. “It should have been so much better… on my knees, presenting a ring… something other than just... “ He pauses with a sigh, his shoulders shrugging.

Castiel’s heart sprouts wings and soars, out of the pit of his stomach directly into his throat, where he has to choke out the words around it, fingers tilting Dean’s chin up to look into those beautiful green eyes he loves so much. “Dean, no. it was honest and perfect.”

Those green eyes, dark with dread, begin to lighten. “But… you haven’t said anything since then…”

It was Castiel’s turn to look down, ashamed. “I was afraid to mention it… for fear it was an accident.” He swallows, hard. “I wanted to keep on believing it was true for as long as possible.”

Dean’s bright laughter startles him, and he jerks his head up in alarm. Dean’s eyes are dancing, lips spread in a grin full of delight. “Boy, we are just a couple of dumbasses, aren’t we?” Before Castiel can agree, Dean is on him, pressing him into the wall of the shower with a crushing, urgent kiss.

A sound bubbles up in Castiel’s chest and escapes around Dean’s lips on his own - a small sob of relief and gratitude. His hands scrabble at Dean’s shoulders, attempting to gain further purchase there, to bring him even closer.

Dean breaks the kiss and his head falls to Castiel’s shoulder, where soon he feels dampness there, warmer than the cooling shower water pouring on them. He gently pulls Dean’s head up to look into his face.

Dean’s eyes glow in the fluorescent light, bright with unshed tears. His hands capture the sides of Castiel’s face, thumbs sweeping gently over his cheeks.

“God, I love you so much, Cas,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. Then he shivers as the rest of the hot water runs out, the temperature dropping rapidly. “C’mon, we’re gonna freeze again.” His hand drops from Castiel’s face to his hand, spinning around to turn off the shower water and open the shower door to retrieve towels from the rack above the toilet, handing one to Castiel.

It becomes quickly apparent that the shower is far too small for both of them to be able to dry off there, so with an exaggerated shiver, Dean hops out of the shower and begins to rapidly dry off, Castiel following suit within the shower tub. When they’re both dry, Dean offers his hand to Castiel, drawing him out of the shower and into the room proper. He makes his way to the duffle bag by the door and fetches out two pairs of sweats, stepping into one pair before helping Castiel into the other. He then snatches the Impala keys from the nightstand and turns for the door.

“I’ll be right back. I have an idea.” He opens the door and darts out into the rain.

Castiel sighs and heads to fetch another towel from the bathroom.

The door bursts back open, an only slightly damp Dean re-entering with something clutched in his clenched fist. He closes the door behind him and approaches Castiel with firm footsteps.

His hand opens and Castiel sees a ring there, hanging on a chain. “Is that… is that the ring you used to wear?” Castiel squints at the ring, beat up and scratched from all the beer bottle caps scraped against it.

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I stopped wearing it a long time ago… it was the apocalypse and all, and I didn’t want to lose it, so I wore it around my neck for a bit, but it kept popping up and smacking me in the teeth whenever I bent over, so I put it in the glove box.” Dean’s eyes take on a far-away look, a sad smile on his face. “It was originally Mom’s - Dad gave it to her as a sorta promise ring when they first started dating, and of course she stopped wearing it when he got her a proper engagement ring.” He pries open the clasp of the necklace laced through it, his hands shaking, and pulls the ring free from it.

Castiel’s breath catches as Dean falls to his knees in front of him for the second time this day, the ring presented to him, pinched between Dean’s thumb and forefinger.

“Cas,” the words coming so softly Castiel has trouble hearing them over the pounding of the rain on the roof of the motel. “Castiel,” Dean repeats, his voice strengthening with conviction, his eyes cast upwards, hope and love shining in them.

“Will you make me the happiest guy alive and marry me?”

Castiel’s shaking knees give out and he falls to his knees in front of Dean, leaning forward to kiss him, wild and breathless.

“Yes,” he says, kissing his forehead.

“Yes,” he says again, kissing his eyelid, and “yes” again when kissing the other.

Dean is laughing now, the sound filling the room with joy as Castiel continues to kiss him many more times, punctuating each with a heartfelt “Yes.”

Dean finally stops him, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Okay, I get it, I get it!” He grabs Castiel’s hand. “Can I put this damned thing on you now before I just drop it and ravish you?”

Castiel nods, his voice flown away with his heart, and Dean slips the ring on his finger.

Dean holds Castiel’s hand for a second longer, tilting it back and forth as the ring catches the light and bounces reflections around the room.

“Thank you, Cas,” he whispers, then raises Castiel’s hand to his lips, kissing the ring there.

Castiel’s other hand raises to Dean’s face, tilting his head up.

“I felt the coldness of my winter, I never thought it would ever go. I cursed the gloom that set upon us, but I know that I love you so.”

Dean’s eyes squint. “Did you just quote ‘The Rain Song’ to me?”

Castiel smiles, remembering the first time he heard the song on the cassette Dean had made for him.

“You quoted it to me first.”

They fall silent, content, and listen as the rain continues to fall, pattering on the roof.

#suptober20 #day22 #Destiel #art #fic

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akitokihojo · 4 years

Text

Delicate - Chapter 6

Lol, I forgot it was Friday and almost didn't post this. Whoops.

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It was like Kagome had completely lost the ability to read Inuyasha - if that was something she was ever able to claim at all. She’d noticed a difference in him over the weeks. He seemed a little more calm, a little more forthcoming, a little more receptive, a little more welcoming. She’d seen his smile so many times before, but there was something about the looks he’d give her on occasions few and far between, only in passing, robbing her heart of a beat as he bequeathed this warm and tender grin. What did it mean?

Initially, she’d thought the effort he was putting forth was to overcompensate for the argument they’d gotten into, but as time kept ticking, the facade didn’t appear to be so much of a facade anymore. She could see herself getting used to his new demeanor around her. It wasn’t a change that was so substantial that she felt something was wrong. She actually felt like Inuyasha was just more comfortable. With her, in particular. Everything else seemed almost normal.

Maybe she was looking too far into it; seeing things that weren’t actually there. Maybe she’d inadvertently received an extra dash of hope one day and clung to it like static on clothing. She’d tried shaking it off, rationalizing, but she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Suddenly, she desperately wanted her plaguing thoughts to be true. She wanted him to like her.

It couldn’t be possible, though. Could it? No. Yes? Maybe? It wasn’t healthy to go back and forth with herself so often, wondering how another person felt. But, she couldn’t help it. He’d come over to study, and when he was trying to explain something to her in more depth, he’d scoot closer. Not like before. He wouldn’t just lean in a little. Inuyasha would move his entire body toward her. She’d physically feel his body heat, smell his intoxicating and subtle scent, and god, was it difficult to focus through that. So, therein of itself, it had to all just be her imagination at play. If their knees grazed, he’d usually move away. If he got a little too close by accident, he’d scoot himself back an inch or two. Then, there were times where it seemed he wanted to touch her but wouldn’t; another scenario she could blame on her overactive imagination. Inuyasha was just being nice, and her stupid emotions were clearly getting the better of her.

Truth be told, she was impeccably embarrassed for having her feelings exposed to him. She felt even more vulnerable than before. They hadn’t been acknowledged since or formally rejected, so her admittance did nothing more than hang in the air between them. The lack thereof was as much a rejection as anything, though, and she told herself that. It didn’t matter that they texted more often, it didn’t matter that he looked at her a little lighter, it didn’t matter that she, herself, felt considerably more drawn to him. None of it meant a thing. Did it?

What was the worse option here? To hope or to not get her hopes up?

Unfortunately, as easy as it was to try and logically think things through in her alone time, when she was around him that was all shot to hell. For some reason, he seemed even more attractive lately than ever. She liked the way his brows relaxed when he looked at her - consciously or subconsciously, she couldn’t tell. When he had his nose in his own homework, Kagome couldn’t help but stare. Just a little. He had a wonderfully calm expression to him when he wrote out answers on the sheet, his long hair swooping over his shoulder from the tie at the crown of his head. Not a single part of his features crinkled when he concentrated, unlike hers. The sound of his voice was soothing. When he spoke, the pace of her heart would increase for a few seconds, and then slow to a peaceful rhythm. She liked that. She enjoyed the way he made her feel just by being near.

At the same time, she couldn’t even tell if she was miserable or not. It was so difficult to love someone while trying to convince yourself it would never happen. Love. Was she even old enough to experience that emotion? Did it have an age cap? Was it an eighteen-or-older sort of thing, or was it legitimate at whatever stage you were in life? It had to be legitimate; there was no other excuse for the throbbing intensity that overwhelmed her chest, or the loneliness she felt whenever he left her side.

She was scared. Scared she was right and he didn’t feel the same, scared he’d ghost her again no matter the reassurance he’d given, scared she’d be this hopeless forever. Sometimes, Kagome felt life would be a bit more manageable if Inuyasha would just be straightforward and turn her down already. Then she’d at least have a direct answer to go off of. Then she could move on.

“Kagome?” Her mom’s voice was soft as she approached her bedroom, poking her head through the cracked door that creaked as the angle widened. Kagome had responded with an audible yeah, but she’d tossed herself facedown on her mattress the moment she got home from school and had been laying that way ever since, so the word came out muffled and groan-like. “Well, you look like you’re hanging in there.” She remarked, the playful hint of sarcasm ringing through.

This time, Kagome intended for the broken groan she’d replied with, dragging it out as she felt the vibration of her voice on her pillow.

“I totally understand. I feel the same way.” Her mom giggled.

She shot up to sit on her knees, twisting around to face her mother leaning against the doorframe. “I hate feelings!”

“Oh?”

“Who needs them, anyway!? Are they gonna get me into college!? Get me a good job!? Nope! I shouldn’t even be focusing on them! I’m seventeen, I’m too young for this! Right?”

“I met your dad at fifteen.” She smiled warmly. Just like that, Kagome huffed out some of her frustration, furrowing her brows as her lips sealed. “I knew I loved him from the start. He was a little older, a little rough around the edges, and it took him forever to outright tell me he loved me.”

“But, you knew.” Kagome drawled. She’d heard the story before, multiple times. It just hit different now that there were similarities to what she was currently going through.

“It’s all about taking the hints. People have different love languages. Learning their fluency is difficult but rewarding.”

“What if there’s a misunderstanding or miscommunication, though?” She asked, a little on the gentler side. “What if you misinterpret what they’re trying to tell you, entirely?”

Her mom gave a one-sided shrug, the smile never leaving her face. “Then you ask for clarification.” She noticed the uncertainty on her daughter’s face, the way her big, brown eyes seemed wary as they flickered away. “And, you keep the negative thoughts at bay until then. No use jumping to conclusions, good or bad.”

Kagome, defeated as she was, thanked her mom with a lazy smile. “You going into work?”

“Yup. Nightshift again. Sota’s at Shippo’s, would you mind getting him around eight-thirty?”

“Sure.” Kagome agreed, looking at the clock to see how much time she had. Two hours. She crawled off her mattress, heading to her dresser to get out different clothes to wear.

“Oh and,” She waited for her daughter to turn her way, making sure she had her attention as she gripped the door to close on her way out. “Love may not get you anywhere, but it can get you through everything. You’ll come to appreciate it. Believe me.”

“Yeah, well it sucks so far.” Kagome chuckled.

“I’ll bring home ice cream.” She droned, shutting the door as she left.

Kagome shoved her hands in her hoodie pockets, tucking herself inward as she approached the train station. Of course her brother, no longer in a cast and crutches but still hobbling around on a weak ankle, would want to hang out with the friend that lives furthest. Their mom pitied him since he’d been cooped up day and night ever since he’d gotten hurt, so she allowed him to get out now that the cast was finally off, but could he have gone to see someone down the street? Nope. Of course, not.

She pulled a hand free, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans to pull out her station pass to enter through the gate. The seasons were changing, the nights growing colder to really communicate the shift, making her wish she’d thought of bringing her muffler out of the entry closet ahead of time to freshen up. For now, it wasn’t too bad. The air was just a little nippy, but as she made her way further into the station to wait for her train, she adjusted to the comfortable temperature inside.

A rail line pulled up to empty, the car doors opening as several people filed out and Kagome moved out of their way. According to the schedule, hers should be there in the next ten minutes. From the side, silver caught her eye, bringing her attention to immediately shoot toward it. That’s how it’d been lately. Anything, anything at all, that could potentially remind her of Inuyasha was impossible to ignore, a shutter of excitement ricocheting along her ribcage. Whenever it turned out to be nothing, she felt disappointed and embarrassed, and ultimately glad no one had a pathway to read her mind and see the pathetic basket case she’d become. Not even Sango knew the degree of her state, and if Kagome had her way, it’d stay like that. More often than not, all she wanted to do was crawl under a rock and wait everything out until her feelings subsided and she could coexist with Inuyasha like a normal person with rational thinking abilities. But, as her brown eyes flashed over and she actually spotted the half demon trudging through the small crowd, an inexplicable mixture of happiness and trepidation crawled over her skin. His head was slightly hung while he dabbed the back of the sleeve of his pullover sweater to his mouth, pulling it away to look at it, then dabbing it again. Her mouth had opened, her breath hitching as she almost called his name, but he’d already looked up, golden eyes landing on her instantly.

Inuyasha didn’t seem all that happy. In fact, it looked as if he’d ducked his head an inch or two, keeping the back of his fist raised to his mouth. He’d stopped walking, the station emptying and leaving the two of them alone where they stood. Without thought, Kagome walked over, noticing the way he notched his face away when she approached. It didn’t take a genius to know something was wrong. Disconcertment began to bubble in her abdomen, and she briefly wondered why he wouldn’t look at her or greet her with the smile she’d grown accustomed to.

“Hey,” She spoke softly. The side of his lips that she could see were curved in a frown, one that pinched together in unsettlement while she waited for any sort of response from him. She could hear the clenched breath in his throat as he sighed out heatedly, practically feeling his frustration and discomfiture. It wasn’t difficult to understand now why he was hiding his face. In fact, his adamant reluctance to show her was all she needed in order to know. “What happened?” Kagome’s voice echoed her concern.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” Inuyasha brusquely replied, resisting the temptation to meet her gaze. He didn’t expect to feel so ashamed just by seeing her at the worst possible moment, but the murky sensation swam through each vein in his body, one at a time. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Don’t do that.” She shook her head. He hadn’t tried to step around her at all, but she moved closer anyway, cocking her head in an attempt to get him to look at her. “Don’t shut me out. You don’t have to, you know this.”

She was comforting him, yet his shame increased, making him want to duck his face further. It was two against one, and they’d gotten him good this time around. The last thing he wanted was for her to see the evidence of the incident. He didn’t want anything to mar her picture of him.

Her hands reached up, and his abdominals tensed rigidly, but not a single bone in his body pulled away from her touch, gentle, cold hands wrapping around his wrist to pull it away from his mouth. There was little hesitance from him. It wasn’t entirely passive, though. Inuyasha still needed to assure himself that she, Kagome, wasn’t the enemy. She’d never be his enemy. She wouldn’t hurt him. He trusted her, and with firm reminders, he was progressively believing that she was a safe zone.

Kagome observed the way his lids closed as she guided his hand away from his mouth, his head turning to her so that she could see. There was a fierce cut on his bottom lip, the area angry, red, with a hint of purple developing over the soft flesh. Crimson was smeared along his chin, cleaned with his sleeve but the tinted smudge still remained. His cheek was bruised and scraped, the dark hues already settling in. Inuyasha opened his eyes, leveling with her own, his tongue slowly licking away fresh blood that seeped from his mouth.

“One of the bastards was wearing a ring.” He huskily mentioned.

She couldn’t withhold the exasperated grunt she’d released at his state, gripping his wrist a little tighter as she about-faced and led him to a nearby bench. Pulling him in front of her, she pushed down on his wrist to gesture for him to sit, releasing him as he followed suit with zero argument. His gaze sat along the far wall away from her as she gently held his jaw, looking him over to see the damage.

“Are you okay?” Kagome was heavily distraught, her fingers barely skimming the soft skin as she worried more of aggravating bruises that may not have developed yet. When she saw no markings beneath her fingertips, she’d set them down, running over the line of his jaw before reaching for each hand, one at a time, looking over his knuckles to see if harm had been done to his fists. He took his right hand back just as she ran her icy thumb over his scabbing middle knuckle, using the back of his sleeve to dab at his lip before setting his arm back in his lap.

“Fine.”

“There was more than one guy?”

“Two.” Inuyasha plainly stated.

“And, they just - they just attacked you?”

“No. Not quite.” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“How is it complicated? I don’t understand.”

“No, Kagome, don’t start. I don’t want you getting involved.” The hanyou stood, and Kagome instinctively gave him space as he stepped around her, heading to the vending machine.

“I’d hardly consider it getting involved if all you’re doing is explaining the situation.”

He slipped a dollar in, hitting the first cold drink in the machine and watching it clank to the bottom before reaching in for it, immediately pressing the beverage to his offended, bottom lip. He glanced back over, noting the concern in her eyes and the way her mouth pouted with the pressing emotion. Wow. How unpredictable that he’d grow so remarkably weak in the wake of her regard. “I told you, I used to associate with a shit crowd.”

“Yeah. Used to. Why are they still coming after you?”

“They didn’t think it was very respectful of me to just up and disappear on them when I wanted out. Then, I told them all to fuck off, which is always received well.” He sarcastically chuckled, sauntering back her way. “Their little leader, Bankotsu, wants to have a word with me, which typically means he wants to beat me senseless, but it’s more fun avoiding that and pissing him off than anything. Whenever I’ve bumped into any of his lackeys since then, they tell me to come with them and I always say if they can manage to kick my ass, I’ll go.”

“So, you challenge them.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. I’m not just gonna roll over.”

“But, why’d you get involved with them in the first place?” Her brow furrowed, dismay etched imperfectly in the way the skin between bunched.

The hanyou sighed, his chest deflating entirely, lowering the drink from his lip and letting it hang in his hand. “I was always angry, I was lashing out, so I went and got myself inducted into this team of misfit toys that I thought were relatable. It was fucking stupid, I know, and they treated me like trash from the get-go. I realized half demons always got the short end of the stick, but damn, even the lowlives of the alley made me feel like I didn’t belong anywhere.”

Kagome could hear the lick of resentment in his tone. Truthfully, she felt resentment for him.

“They actually had me wishing for a way to become a full demon for a while. Can you imagine how much easier my life would have been if I was a full fucking demon?” His aggravation was expanding, boiling in his gut, hot and bitter and vicious as the hard feelings of everything had never completely been dealt with. “I still think things would be better if I could just change. One or the other. Demon or human. No in between so there’s no bullshit to deal with.”

“Don’t you think that’s bullshit in itself?” Kagome boldly asked. “What good would that do? You’d only end up miserable.”

He’d reacted habitually, his defense shooting up as his scowl formed. “Oh, because I’m so much better off as it is? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She froze for a second, unsuspecting of his tone. Sheepishly, she ducked her head, swallowing and taking a small step back. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. Maybe it wasn’t her place. Maybe it didn’t matter what she thought, and her opinion was only received as an insult. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want her getting involved; because she always gave her two cents, like he’d said before. “Right. You’re right. That came out wrong. I’d only meant that you shouldn’t have to change who you are to be happy.”

Fuck. His temper was going to be his downfall. He could feel her guard going up, figuring he’d made her feel shut down. It was obvious she meant well, so why the fuck would he react like that? “Kagome -“

“No, you’re right. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I don’t know what you’ve been through. I just - I can’t imagine you as anything but a half demon.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” Inuyasha breathed.

“You didn’t. I get it; where you’re coming from, that is.” She assured, shaking her head. He didn’t firmly believe her. Her eye contact wasn’t holding. Inuyasha stepped inward to close the minute gap she’d created with the insecurity that had risen, appearing as invested in what she had to say as possible. He honestly wanted to know where she was going with her statement, his wary tendencies shadowing his surprise that she’d even have a rebuttal to his diffidence.

He wanted more from her, she could tell. He hadn’t meant to react so rashly, she could understand that, too. It took a moment to regain her bearings, her fingers balling in her sweater pockets, letting her confidence and comfort build while pushing the negative thoughts away as she leaned her head back to look up at him.

“Everyone who thinks little of you is shit.” Inuyasha watched her lips as she spoke, the words acting as fingers that steadily held onto his heart. There was no grip yet, but he was positive one would develop. It would wring him dry. It would bring him to his knees, he just fucking knew it. One statement. One statement in and he was already terrified of the beautiful damage she was about to inflict on him. Terrified and, oddly enough, thrilled. “I don’t care how many people that turns out to be, they’re all shit. This is you, and you are not bad or worthless or unnatural or whatever else they may have told you. If you could see you the way I do maybe you’d understand what I’m getting at, but I don’t think there’s any possible way you could be you in a different form. And,”

Kagome paused, her nerves clenching her stomach.

Inuyasha was breaking as everything he’d ever needed to hear was so easily spread out between them.

“I’d be -“

His eyes stared at her with astonishment, glowing through the shadow of his brow. She wanted to touch him, wanted to help him feel the adoration behind her sentiment, but she trembled so badly that she worried he’d confuse that with literally anything other than what she wanted to convey. The rest of her sentence was knotted in her throat, she almost had to coax it free. Her face grew hot, and she swore he’d inched down her way.

“I’d be devastated if a part of you were permanently thrown away. I like you the way you are.” She’d whispered.

Inuyasha felt himself moving without his command, drawn to her like she was the missing piece of a puzzle he’d been working on for so long now. He was slow in his action, achingly so, but he never once tried to regain control. Nor, did Kagome pull away. She was allowing his hands to cradle her jaw, to bring the two of them closer to one another, to breathe her in one inch at a time. He loved her. Fate was finally kind to him. He was intentionally tender, the tips of their noses grazing incredibly softly, her inhale short and broken and hitching in her chest, their lips just barely brushing together when the train’s horn alerted them as it came into the station.

Inuyasha tensed, pulling back and releasing her. Any conviction inside of him dwindled away with the startle, his nervousness intensifying to take hold of what was.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted, eyes bouncing back and forth from the stopping train to the blushing girl before him.

“It’s okay.” Kagome quickly assured.

“H-heat of the moment.” The excuse left his mouth before he had the chance to stop it. His mind was always looking for a scapegoat, for a way out of any situation, willing to toss out anything, and no matter how innocent this may have seemed in the split second it had flashed through his mind, it was also the most insensitive thing he could have said. He looked at her, his lungs no longer cooperating as they clasped his breath hostage, taking in the series of expressions that formed on her face. Mild shock, brown eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Then her lips sealed and she gazed away, her cheeks still as red as before but her disappointment was so vivid. Then, when she smiled, as if she was trying to hide what he’d already witnessed, her eyes blinked quickly and he caught the faint scent of tears. He could have kicked himself. “Fuck, no, Kagome I -“

“That’s my train.” She mentioned, pointing, regarding him slightly, then walking away.

“Wait, where are you going?” Inuyasha followed, panic striking him. Hardly anyone had left the train, the cars mostly empty to begin with.

“I have to get my brother.” Kagome didn’t know which emotion predominated the other; humiliation or dejection. Her heart had dropped when he leaned in to kiss her, warmth flooding over her so wonderfully, only to have it all plummet to the floor when he’d said he hadn’t meant to. How much more vulnerable could she get without the promise of someone catching her as she fell? At this rate, she was bound to hit the ground. Hard. She was ready to cry, her chest was tight, and the absolute last thing she wanted was for Inuyasha to see her that way. She took deep breaths, as deep as her lungs would permit, gathering herself hastily.

The half demon lunged forward, snagging her arm and stopping her before she stepped through the open door of the train, her attention reactively flying right back to him. “I’m sorry, I said the wrong thing. I didn’t mean that.”

The warning announcement went off for all passengers to be on the train. Kagome looked back at the open car, stepping in, Inuyasha’s hand gliding from her upper arm, down to her elbow, her forearm, her wrist, and then her hand, gripping her there. His palm was hot and large around hers, and she couldn’t help but hold his hand in return, adding to the weight on her shoulders. She gave him a smile, trying to relax the distress on his brow. It didn’t work.

“It’s okay, it was an accident. You don’t have to worry about it.” She politely dismissed. He gripped her hand a little tighter, his jaw clenching. “It would have probably hurt your lip, anyway.”

“No, shit, I don’t care about that!” Another warning chime interrupting, rushing him. He wanted to tell her that if he had the guts, he would have never pulled away or moved so slowly that he’d lost his chance to begin with. He wanted to tell her that if he could, he would kiss her over and over and over and over, whenever he got the chance. It’s just not easy for him. None of this is easy for him. If he could communicate that with words, he would have, but they failed him just like so many times before. And, he wished the way he held her hand was enough, but it wasn’t. Who would understand what he was trying to say through the simplest of gestures, right? “It - it wasn’t - it wasn’t an accident. Believe me.”

Whatever was left of Kagome’s smile had faded.

Oh. Oh.

He’d wanted to kiss her?

Is that what he was telling her, that he’d wanted to kiss her? Because, it sure felt like it, and the intensity of his stare pierced her in such a different way than ever before. Kagome inadvertently clutched his hand tightly, topping the fervor of his hold. How did he feel right now, in this moment? It wasn’t right to guess. Assuming would only make matters worse for her at this point.

“Let me know when you get home safe, okay?”

She nodded, her fingers finally sliding out of his palm. As the door closed, Kagome ducked her head, fighting the thickness of her confliction.

—

“Woah, woah, wooooooah! Back up!” Sango sat on the edge of her bed as Kagome paced the floor of her bedroom, her friend unable to stop her finger-fidgeting in her current state. She’d come over to talk as the evening was setting in on their Saturday, claiming to need a distraction, and no wonder. The girl was loaded with clashing thoughts. “Is this why you’ve been acting so weird the past couple of days?”

“Yes.” Kagome replied unthinkingly, worrying her lip as she finally stopped in front of Sango.

“Not gonna lie, this was definitely a twist I wasn’t expecting. He kissed you?” She leaned forward in her spot, her fingers gripping the very edge of her mattress to hold steady.

“No. Almost.” Kagome corrected.

“But he leaned in?”

“Yes.”

“And then said it was a mistake?”

“Yes.”

“And then said that was a mistake?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Okay. That’s not confusing at all. Repeat the rest of what you said, I got stuck on that part.”

“I don’t know what to think, Sango.” Kagome stated powerfully, the frown on her lips deepening. “Does he like me? Does he not like me? Did he really want to kiss me? Does it mean anything? Oh, what if he didn’t mean to almost kiss me but also didn’t mean to say what he said, so all he was trying to do was retract that? He wanted me to text him when I got home; isn’t that something someone only says when they really care about you? Am I reading too much into everything, or -“ She trailed off in a loud groan, flailing her hands out at her sides, resuming her pacing briefly and then abruptly stopping in front of Sango once more.

“First of all, breathe.” Sango said cautiously, watching her best friend with wide eyes. Never, in all the years they’d known each other, had she ever seen Kagome like this. It was worrisome. Kagome didn’t do as instructed, instead huffing to express a little more of her vexation. “Second, I don’t get it. I knew something was up with you, but this was far from what I imagined. You guys have been talking in school, standing all close to each other, texting… you seemed totally fine around him.”

“Yeah, because he can’t know what’s going through my head!”

“Shouldn’t he?” Sango almost flinched at the incredulous stare Kagome shot her way. “Look, I’ve told you a million times that I think he likes you, but it’s not good enough - which I totally get. The best thing is to hear it from Inuyasha, and the only way to get that right now is to ask him, yourself. Tell him that you’re losing your freaking mind playing this guessing game, and he needs to give you a straight yes or no.”

Kagome’s face fell, dark brown eyes falling to the floor. For the first time that night, she seemed a little more stable, maybe taking in Sango’s advice. Sauntering over, she sat next to Sango on the bed, her raven hair gliding over her shoulders as she sagged forward slightly.

“What if he says no?”

“Hey,” Sango cooed, twisting to face Kagome’s riddled form. She dragged the hair away from hiding Kagome’s face, pushing it behind her ear before rubbing her hand up and down her back as soothingly as possible. “I really don’t think he’ll say no. To me, all the signs are there. Maybe feelings just kind of freak him out and that leads him to literally say all the wrong things. All the time. He’s not Captain Charisma, babe. I mean, I could give you my theories all night long, from most likely to least likely, and in alphabetical order, but you and I both know it won’t be nearly as comforting as hearing it from the source. You just have to ask.”

“How do you ask someone how they feel about you? I’d be putting him on the spot.”

“Yeah, and in my unpopular opinion, that’s exactly what he needs!”

“He’d freeze and say something stupid. I know him.”

“Mm.” Sango hummed, pursing her lips. “You got me there. But, he’d only say something stupid if there’s something to hide.”

“You think?” Kagome inquired, her pout deeming innocence.

“Yeah.” She giggled. “That’s usually how it goes. You said it yourself, Inuyasha isn’t this big mystery. He’s expressive. You’re in your own head. What’s really got you so wrapped up here? You’re not usually like this.”

Kagome gave a small shrug, shying her eyes away before she could muster up an answer. “I think I might be falling in love with him.” She admitted, her voice small and timid, sinking to lay her head in Sango’s lap. “It’s very stressful.”

Sango laughed, stroking the black hair out of Kagome’s face to comfort her. “And not knowing how he feels is scary, right?”

Kagome nodded.

“Would it make you feel any better if I told you he has feelings for you, again?”

Kagome shook her head, her chin giving a little quiver.

“Oh no. Kay, it’s gonna be fine. Okay, here, stay the night and we’ll watch movies, and my dad got that jumbo bag of pizza rolls so we can go to town with those. I have The Wedding Singer, and Adam Sandler literally sings a song about how much love stings, yeah yeah?”

Kagome feigned a smile, sitting up and shaking her head. “I can’t tonight. Gotta get Sota.” She was lying. She really was her own worst enemy right now, but she couldn’t get her mind to calm down. It would be too difficult to enjoy the time with her best friend with how distracted she was. As much as she’d already sat alone in her bedroom and tried to sort out her thoughts, maybe now she’d stand a better chance since she’d vented and gotten her main frustrations out in the open.

“Rain check?” Sango asked, cocking her head to the side sympathetically.

“Yeah. Thanks. I should get going.”

The night air was brisk, the skin of her arms covered in goosebumps, and she cursed herself for not bringing a sweater to Sango’s in the first place. Kagome didn’t want to go home, though. She felt so restless, so ridiculous, so antsy and weighted with how she was too nervous to convince herself Inuyasha had feelings for her, because the letdown of potential rejection was too harsh. If she was wrong, it would hurt so much worse if she’d allowed herself to believe otherwise without his affirmation. Just thinking of it was mortifying.

Sango was right, this was unlike her. Sure, she was human, and sometimes she got as insecure as anyone else, but she never usually stayed down due to the density of her constant, nagging second-guessing. Even if she wasn’t sure about something, Kagome was the kind of person that gave it time for the air to clear so that she could see the situation a little better. Or, just took it all head-on. So, what was going on with her now?

Everyone was right, if she was this riddled, she needed to just get it over with and ask, but she was so timorous about the ordeal. If she were on the other end of this, it would be incredibly awkward to answer. No matter the outcome, it would be uncomfortable. If it were a yes, you’re put in a position where you have to confirm before you’re ready to do so on your own. If it were a no, you’re put in a position where you have to turn someone down and then your friendship is on the line.

And then your friendship is on the line.

No. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to lose him.

Above all else, she just couldn’t bring herself to be selfish enough to ask for an answer. She could handle this on her own. She’d get over it. It didn’t matter that she was feeling down right now, because one of these days she was going to wake up and feel a percentage of the pressure had lifted from her chest.

Was the pressure even normal? Was anything that she was feeling normal?

Kagome pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, dropping her butt onto a nearby bench as she let out a deep, guttural sigh. She’d texted her mom a little while ago saying she was staying a little later at Sango’s than anticipated so she wouldn’t worry, and she’d been wandering about ever since. Some fresh air was supposed to do her good.

Truthfully, the one thing she wanted, the one thing she truly felt would actually do her any good, was to talk to Inuyasha. Not to bring up her feelings, or his, or the now-infamous almost kiss, or anything pertaining to them at all. She just wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice. To listen to that low rumble as he spoke. It was always so comforting to her, now more so than ever. She wanted him to say her name in his calm tone, hell even his grumpy one would help her feel stable right about now. Anything. Anything from him, she would happily accept.

It was kind of late; almost nine. Would he lecture her for calling at this hour? Would he ignore her altogether? Either way, she’d take the risk. This was the least she could do for herself. She clicked on his text from a few hours ago, hitting his picture-less icon, then the phone call button that appeared beneath.

Inuyasha laid on his bed, flipping through the channels on the tv in his room, donned in his joggers and nothing else. His ear flicked as his phone gave a long vibrate on the surface of his nightstand. He was half-tempted to ignore the damn thing, figuring it was Miroku trying to coerce him out of the house to hang out, and he was too damn comfortable to even entertain the idea. Just to be sure, he reached over, tilting the device his way to see who was calling.

A grin grew on his face when he noticed her name was the one illuminating his screen. She’d never called before. Whatever her reason, he didn’t care. Inuyasha immediately swiped to answer, putting her on speaker as he muted the television.

“Hey.” He spoke, his voice on the lazy side.

“Hi.” Kagome said weakly, unable to swallow the sadness that had balled in her throat. She hoped it wasn’t evident. “Were you asleep?”

“It’s nine, of course I wasn’t.” He replied. He couldn’t tell if this was just how she sounded over the phone, or if something was wrong, but he was leaning more towards the latter. Her voice sounded off, small, and it immediately piqued his concern. “Are you okay?”

She went to say she was fine, but her stomach was sinking and it was almost like she couldn’t think straight. She went to say it again, but instead she inhaled shakily to gain her bearings.

“Kagome?”

“I’m okay.” She finally said.

“What’s wrong?” Inuyasha sat up. He didn’t believe her. Of course, he didn’t believe her. That was the worst lie she’d ever said if she’d spoken one. Something was up.

“Nothing. I just - I, um -“

“Did something happen?” The half demon asked, his tone approaching more on the severe side. Kagome wasn’t replying, but he could hear her slow and trembling breathing, a sniffle breaking through, and he even heard her whispered curse toward herself. It was away from the speaker, but he’d caught it all the same. “Kagome…”

“I’m fine.” She said with a little more conviction. “I’m sorry, I -“

“Where are you?”

“What?”

“Are you at home?” Kagome could hear it. She could hear his worry. It was in the direct way he spoke, the tone that demanded an answer without so much as raising his voice.

“No.” She responded just as meekly as her hello.

“Where are you?” There it was again. Stronger. There was a bit of rustling, too, like he was moving around. “Kagome, where are you?”

“You know the park with that statue of the famous archer?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m there. I don’t know the nearest street name.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’m coming. Where in the park are you?” Inuyasha set the phone back on his nightstand, grabbing his discarded jeans from the floor to change into them, his jaw clenching as his gut wrung with a budding panic.

“No, you don’t - that’s not why I called. It’s okay! I’m fine! Really!” She tried to reassure him, her heart giving an uneven thud behind her ribcage.

“No, you’re not! Don’t lie to me! I’m coming, so I can either track your scent or you can make the process faster by telling me where you are!”

Kagome swallowed thickly, her chest heavy as she breathed. “I’m on a bench along the walking path.” She looked around for a notable landmark to guide him. “I think I’m in the thicker tree area.”

“I’ll find you.” He promised, slipping a tee shirt over his head. “Don’t move.”

“Inuyasha…”

“I don’t want to hear it. Don’t move, Kagome. I’ll be right there.” The line ended, beeping three times to signify he’d hung up.

She felt defeated and slightly embarrassed by the whole thing. She couldn’t even pull herself together to talk to him for five minutes like she’d wanted. The effects of his voice were, ironically, too soothing. Where she’d expected the gruff reverberation would calm her mind enough to stabilize, it in fact calmed her so much she almost crumbled instantaneously. It was like she suddenly felt safe enough to fall before him and know he’d help with whatever, and that wasn’t what she was aiming for.

Kagome waited as instructed, setting her phone in her lap so she could hug her exposed arms to her chest to defend against the bite of the air. The night was still, quiet, cars driving in the far distance where the hum of the wheels on pavement barely met her ears. Shoes clapping against the cement path grew closer and closer at a quick pace, bringing her attention to the side as she noticed Inuyasha curve the bend. Even as she stood, catching her phone before it slipped off her leg and to the floor, stepping into plain view, he didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop.

Not until he was within reach did he abruptly slow, grabbing onto her arms, his momentum still forceful enough to have them stumble back a few steps, but his strength enough to compensate and not allow her to trip.

Inuyasha had been worried fucking sick, his mind running wild with each passing moment he hadn’t gotten to her. Something happened but he didn’t know what, which meant anything could have happened to her, and he wasn’t okay with a single thought that crossed his mind to serve as the purpose of her distress. His first instinct was to look her over, his hands traveling to her forearms to bring them before him so he could check her flesh for markings of an assault.

“What happened, are you hurt!?”

“No.” Kagome answered promptly, wide-eyed, surprised by the way his hot hands moved over her. He took her jaw in his hold next, his fingers threading through her messy hair as he stepped in and analyzed her face.

“You sure?”

He was so gentle, his thumbs caressing her cheek, amber eyes radiating such consternation as he stared into her own.

Oh.

She’d been so blind. So foolish. Right then and there, with his current silence and his tender care, with the way he’d dropped whatever he was doing at the sound of her discernible sadness, ran straight to her, his chest now heaving up and down as his lungs demanded air but his question demanded an answer that he clearly needed to hear exponentially more than his body needed oxygen - that was his love language. He was saying so much more, and truth be told, probably had been for the entire time she’d been doubting it all. She shadowed herself, more capable of believing what her fear told her instead of him.

With her stomach still in knots and shambles, she laughed, more of disbelief than anything, as her eyes prickled and her body grew hot. She was so stupid. Tucking her head, Kagome pulled herself into his chest, his hands curving from where they’d sat at her jaw to the nape of her neck. They were light on her, no real firmness to them anymore, but she didn’t care. When they finally settled on her, bringing her against him securely, she felt herself falter, her emotions winning over as tears spilled out.

Carefully, Inuyasha smoothed his hands over Kagome’s soft waves, every barrier of his virtually nonexistent when it came to her now. It was hardly evident, but he could still feel her unsteadiness in the way she leaned her weight against him, ripping his soul apart, breaking his heart with the little quakes of her inhales. His grip around her tightened, and he curled his back to really support her, his cheek propped against the top of her head, pillowing into her thick hair.

“What happened?” He whispered. She gave a small chuckle through her crying, the noise wet but still pleasant. Against the center of his chest, she shook her head, her fingers clutching onto the back of his sweater a little stronger. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

Kagome backed away, hiding her face as she wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands, sniffling but regaining composure without having to hide anything anymore. She was smiling, little giggles slipping out, humiliated but the unhappiness fading away. “I’ve just been having a rough night. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you like this. That wasn’t why I called.”

“I’m glad you called.” Inuyasha immediately stated. She looked up at him, dazed, her cheeks red from her consistent wiping and the blood pooling beneath her skin, evident under the lamppost they stood beneath. “If something’s wrong, I want you to be able to turn to me. Unapologetically. What’s going on?”

He pulled off his sweater, twirling it over her shoulders and holding it steady so she could slip her arms through. His body heat was still soaked into the cloth, warming her arms, smelling so much like him the trembling in her muscles almost instantly stopped from the way it quelled her nerves. If she had just been paying attention all along, if she had just taken a step out of her confined box, she could have probably avoided all of this. Inuyasha had been trying to be more open toward her. For her. Now, here he was, unabashedly tending to her in the midsts of her breakdown because she’d gotten so deep into her own head that she just couldn’t handle it anymore. She was the cause of her own misery while Inuyasha had been right there all along. How stupid. Again, she laughed at herself. All she had to do was listen, and she would have understood the way he communicated. Just like her mom said.

“It was just one of those nights.” Kagome said, not wanting him to know the true reason behind it all. It was unnecessary at this point. She wanted to let it go. She wanted to let everything go and just feel the way she wanted without holding herself back anymore. “Everything was going wrong, but it was my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I was thinking so negatively and I just couldn’t stop. I felt really insecure, so I went for a walk but it wasn’t helping. And, that’s why I called you. I wanted to hear your voice so I could calm down.”

There was a hitch in his chest. Was it his heart or his lungs? His face grew hot, and mild embarrassment washed over him faster than he could process the words she’d spoken. She likes his voice. It’s soothing to her. A part of him wanted to retreat behind a cool demeanor and brush off what she’d said, but a larger, more dominating part of him refused to. What she said held meaning. Meaning he understood loud and clear. This was what he’d wanted from the moment he’d realized he’d fallen for her. This right here, being in her comfort zone, being the one who runs to her just to make sure she’s okay, responsible for holding her when she wasn’t, and adhering to her smile. The dull ache in his torso when she spoke in such a low voice was significant, and if she was going to so honestly rock his core with a single statement of her vulnerability, he wasn’t about to turn away from it.

“I was gonna come up with some stupid homework question to get you talking,” Kagome continued. “But, I blanked. I’m so sorry.”

Inuyasha reached over, gently petting her hair, flowing along her black waves to lay his hand on her shoulder. “What can I do for you right now? How can I help?”

“You already have.” She smiled.

His fingers curved around the back of her neck, pulling her back into his body to tuck her safely into his arms. She relaxed against him, hugging his waist, and god dammit, he shouldn’t have been so happy just by the way her chest gave a minor hitch to adjust and follow his own breathing. In a moment of boldness, he rested his mouth against the top of her head, muffling the small kiss he gave.

“Thank you.” Kagome shyly said as they just about reached the front of her house. Inuyasha had been adamant on walking her home. He didn’t even have to argue with her on how she was stupid for saying he didn’t need to; all he did was give her a stern stare that effectively shut her mouth and shut her up. The entire walk home, he kept close, their arms occasionally brushing. A few times, if their paces ever accidentally differed, he’d pinch the baggy sleeves of the sweater he’d lent her, pulling her back to his side.

That was never there before. She could only be grateful for the new development.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you okay now?” Inuyasha asked, giving a small cock of his head.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Hey, look at me. Are you okay now?” He repeated, wanting to see it in her eyes when she spoke.

She smiled, nodding. “I’m really okay. Embarrassed, but okay. I promise.”

“You’ll let me know if you need me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You promise that, too?”

She let that one sink in for a moment, taking in the sweetness of his gaze. He wasn’t joking, or teasing her. He wanted assurance that she’d trust him. “I promise.”

“Good. Get inside.” He said. Kagome wiggled her shoulders to remove his sweater, but he swiftly stopped her by reaching behind and pulling the hood over her head. “Keep it. It looks good on you.”

“Won’t you get cold?” She blushed, pushing the hood back and biting her lip.

He gifted her a crooked grin, taking a few steps backwards. “Half demon, remember?”

“Right. Impervious to the elements.”

“Warmer blood, dummy.” He chuckled. “Go.”

“Will you, um, will you text me when you get home?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

Kagome bundled herself further into his sweater, enjoying the way his scent still engulfed her. “Good night.” She smiled, heading inside.

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#Inuyasha #Kagome #Kagome Higurashi #Miroku #Sango #inukag #mirsan #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fic #inukag fanfiction #inukag fanfic #inukag fic #high school au #coming of age #my writing #akitokihojo #delicate

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kai-n-ali · 4 years

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In the Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) | Chapter One

Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his.

Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Season 04. Tommy x OFC.

Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC (slurs), canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.

Word Count: 5K

Chapter Two ❀ Chapter Three

Chapter 1: Citron (Ill-natured Beauty)

The bell let out a series of chimes as the door creaked on its hinges, and in a small florist shop tucked between a gelateria and an abandoned butchery, Eleanor Blum officially met the devil of Small Heath.

She wasn’t impressed.

Flora’s, the little florist and botanical shop, had become a haven for the twenty-three-year-old in the time that she’d lived above Cora Evans’ storefront: only a few short weeks. Flora’s, partially named after Cora’s granddaughter, Florence, was a bright spot of color among the grit and grimness of Birmingham, with flower boxes brimming with asters and foxgloves, strawflowers and marigolds. Along the south-facing wall, honeysuckle crawled up the scratched brick, and the thick, sweet scent of the flowers almost washed out the stench of shit wafting up from the nearby horse stables or the sour-milk scent from gone-off gelato dumped in the dumpster, left to fester in the summer heat.

Inside, the shop was cluttered, bouquets dotting the window display and trailing back in colorful bunches all throughout the front of the store, some put in ornate vases, others in ribbon-adorned mason jars, and a few placed into half-rusted buckets. Petals and leaves dotted the floor, and the room reeked of lavender and fresh-cut stems, grassy and clean. In the back of the store where the rare plants were, packets of seeds labelled in Cora’s handwriting, and now in Eleanor’s own scrawl, lined their worktable in rows.

When he first came in, she didn’t bother looking up from her spot bent over one of the tables, hands streaked in dirt from potting snapdragon cuttings—they were very fashionable right now for front gardens, apparently—and the charcoal from her pencils. She’d plucked a honeysuckle bloom off its stem earlier in the morning and was practicing the loose lines of it on paper with strokes of a pencil.

The bell chimed, and Eleanor heard none of it, not until a voice cleared its throat a few paces in front of her. Eleanor jolted up, pushed a few curls out of her eyes.

The man in front of her was beautiful in the way most wild things were when trapped behind glass. The way vines were beautiful when they were confined to the cracks of cobblestone, peeking out in glimpses of brilliant green. With cheekbones that looked like they’d split the pads of her fingers if she reached out to touch, that looked like they were meant for dinner parties as much as they were for being flecked in blood, Eleanor felt herself stiffen. She knew this man. Sort of.

That newsboy cap was just ridiculous.

Thomas Shelby, the husband of Grace Shelby, stood in her new place of employment. The last time she’d seen him, Eleanor had been at a gala in a new dress, gems dripping from her throat and beading trickling off her hem while she grilled his wife on her new orphanage and its living conditions for the second time.

He was a ghost. Some half-wilted thing.

Eleanor tilted her head, taking in the stiff lines of him, the strained civility held in the pale blue of eyes, and thought: how disappointing.

She hadn’t taken Shelby for the kind of man to wilt.

Meanwhile, it seemed Mr. Shelby was studying her as well. The startling blue of his eyes trained on her, cut across by the thicket of his lashes. He swept up and down her form, and she avoided fidgeting just barely. It seemed he recognized her, perhaps from the charity gala for the Shelby Foundation that went so wrong. Eleanor herself had only seen glimpses of him at said event, dressed in a black tux, the cut of his jaw severe and the stretch of his coat across his shoulders making her mouth go dry. She’d seen him as a dark shadow lingering behind his wife, his hand curling around her pale shoulder or tucking a loose, golden curl behind her ear before he was up and off again.

Though, she realized she’d lied before. The last time she’d seen Thomas Shelby, it’d been a black-and-white photo shot from quite a distance, his back ramrod straight as he stood over the coffin of his dead wife. Surrounded by chrysanthemums and hydrangeas. His family stone-faced beside hordes of men in full military garb.

The thought of Mrs. Shelby made her wince, and if anything, that made him stare harder. Something in his eyes questioned, how do I know you? Eleanor wasn’t obliged to answer.

She locked her jaw and crossed her arms over the dirt-streaked cotton of her blouse. “Can I help you?” she asked, “or did you come just to ogle?”

Somewhere from close behind, Eleanor heard a small squeak. She turned to face the noise. Florence, or Flora, sat on one of their many wooden benches, nearly toppling over a vase of petunias with every swing of her feet. Her eyes were very wide. “Ella,” she said, high-pitched, in a more-than-loud whisper. “Ella, that’s Mr. Shelby.”

Flora was a girl of thirteen, with straight, dark hair cut right below her ears, and a smile that grew more lopsided the harder she grinned. When the chores were through and if the shop wasn’t busy, Eleanor would sit down and entertain her with little doodles, half-formed sketches.

Right now, however, she was white as a freshly bleached sheet, her gangly legs jiggling with nerves. She hadn’t grown into them yet, but Eleanor found them endearing—almost coltish. Her eyes darted for her grandmother, but Cora was long gone on an errand.

Mr. Shelby seemed unaffected, clearing his throat again with a cough. One hand rested on his pocket-watch, as though already eager to check the time. “Ella, eh?” She’d never heard him speak before, and the coarseness of his voice made her stomach flip-flop alongside the annoyance burning away at her. “Well, Ella—”

“Eleanor.”

There was a slight furrow to his brow now. It really was painfully fucking charming. He just sort of looked at her, head cocked, considering. Eleanor let out a gust of a sigh.

“It’s Eleanor. My name. Not Ella.” Not to you, she thought. There was a pause, and she heard more than saw Flora place her head into the palms of her hands.

“Tommy Shelby,” he said, as if she didn’t know that, and offered her his hand. Eleanor looked at that hand, the deceptive slimness of his fingers and the narrow taper of his wrist. His callouses were faded, softened with time.

There was dirt under her nails and specks of dried mud up to her wrists, but she shook Mr. Thomas Shelby’s hand like she was wearing silk gloves. All lowered lashes and a coquettish flick of her wrist bone. The high-society ladies back home would surely applaud her if they saw.

Then she ruined it.

“What kind of grown-ass man still goes by the name Tommy?” she blurted before she could stop herself, her hand still in his. His hand had looked almost delicate before, but it engulfed her own. The shocked jerk of it against hers sent a vibration up her arm, and she suppressed a smirk. His eyes narrowed in on her face, a sudden intensity there he hadn’t possessed before. Like he wanted to peel back her skin and look beneath. Off-to-the-side, Flora let out a distressed little sound, akin to a mourner at a funeral. Viewing the body one last time before it lowered into the earth with the worms.

The next sound past his lips was a huff that could’ve been taken for a laugh. If he were any other man. “One without a stick up the ass, I bet.” He tossed a glance Flora’s way, quirked up his mouth. He really had a lovely mouth. “Miss Eleanor.”

And Eleanor couldn’t hold back a grin. “Hm. Agree to disagree, Mr. Shelby.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned over the countertop until her curls swung into her face. They were close enough now she could almost feel his breath ghosting the top of her head. “So, what’re you here for, then? Haven’t got all day.” Now, she sweetened her smile so the next bit wouldn’t bite, only sting. “Not even for the likes of you.”

“Y’ know,” and his voice was a slow drawl that made her spine tingle and her hair stand on end, the way his lips formed around the words with the barest hint of threat, of teeth, “people rarely speak to me this way, Miss Eleanor.”

“Not to your face, I’m sure.” She paused. “Mr. Shelby.”

Was it just her, or was he almost smiling? “Fair enough. Just a bouquet for me.” His eyes hadn’t left her face. “Of your choosing.”

“Right away,” she said, but something nagged at her. Taking a glance at his clothing—well-pressed and well-tailored, with a dark coat that had to be far too hot for the late July humidity and slacks with a crease down each leg—and thought he looked like a man heading to a funeral. Or a gravestone. Eleanor swallowed. Thought back to that black-and-white photo from near a year ago. Chrysanthemums and hydrangeas.

Despite herself, she wondered if those had been Mrs. Shelby’s favorite flowers. They weren’t the flowers of funerals. Of mourning.

Eleanor cast her gaze around the shop, but there was no arrangement that caught her interest, that fit the bill. She worried at her bottom lip. “Gimme a moment,” she muttered, almost to herself, and stepped out from behind the table. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck.

Off-to-the side, pressed against the wall, were paint buckets filled with loose flowers, rows upon rows of color and texture, bunched together and stems kept in nutrient-enriched water. Among them, she found what she was looking for: chrysanthemums, white and ruffled with their pale green centers; hydrangeas, their purple petals in clusters. She also went for baby’s breath, as sparse and dainty as it was. A good filler for a bouquet, with the bonus of a powerful meaning. Everlasting love. Not that Thomas would know that.

From a pail on one of the many counter spaces, she hunted for a ribbon. All knotted up in a ball, it took her a moment before she found the perfect one and managed to untangle it from the rest. Silky, sage green embroidered with indistinguishable little white buds. Perhaps a touch too long. Plucking and tweaking until it formed into a proper flower arrangement, if not a bit of a rustic one, she made a simple bow around the bundle before turning back to her customer. Taking quick steps to get back behind the main counter. “All done,” Eleanor said. She couldn’t look at him. With the heft of one shoulder, an almost-shrug, she offered the bouquet forward, level with his chest. She traced the pattern of his vest with her eyes, the stitching.

The bouquet was smaller than a lot of the ones on display, less elaborate.

But it felt right.

Reaching into the pocket of her skirts, she rifled for the few spare coins she kept there for emergencies with her spare hand. He’d yet to take the bouquet. She slapped them onto the space in front of him with a clink. Just enough. Flora was strangely silent. “And already paid for.”

Thomas’ eyes felt hot on her face. Almost a brand.

He didn’t say a thank you, just gave a hum under his breath, and when he reached out to grab the flowers, his fingers grazed her own. She wondered what he thought of the scar tissue stretched across her knuckles, her fingers, if he could feel it against his skin, bumpy and rigid. This touch felt different than when he’d shook her hand, and it sent pinpricks of sensation up her forearm. When he let go, she shook out her hand away from view, trying to force the odd tingling away. It lingered.

“Good day, Mr. Shelby.”

“Eleanor.” And when he left, it was with a chime of the shop’s bell.

For a moment, the whole shop was suspended in a hush, as if the world itself had paused, reverberating with that single chime. But then Florence was up in a flurry of movement, flinging herself into Eleanor’s space with a string of expletives that didn’t belong in the mouth of a grown man, not to mention a fourteen-year-old girl. Eleanor laughed despite herself. Threw back her head with the force of it.

“Language,” she chided.

“D’ you ‘ave a death wish?”

Florence’s round eyes were roving over Eleanor’s face, her hands on her hips. She looked very serious—or would’ve, if not for the spot of dirt on the side of her nose.

Eleanor smiled. “Not recently, no.”

The younger girl didn’t seem to find that very funny, and a scowl twisted her features. “That’s Tommy Shelby you just ran your mouth off to, Ella,” she stated, jabbed a finger at her chest. Adorable, Eleanor thought. “Tommy. Shelby.” The stress on these two words was punctuated with another two jabs.

“I know his name.” I’ve met his wife.

“You don’t get it,” she said, and there was a franticness to her voice, her posture. Her hands twitched and fidgeted. “’E’s the leader of the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders. People say ‘e’s worse than the devil ‘imself."

“Language.” But Eleanor’s head was already tilted in curiosity. Worse than the devil? “Peaky Blinders, huh?" She snorted. “Cute.”

“Not cute, Ella, not cute. Dangerous. Deadly. They’re the biggest gang in Birmingham. Turned businessmen. They own us.” She puffed a stray hair out of her eyes. “You get a glance at his cap?” At Eleanor’s nod, she continued. “They sew razors into the brim. You fuck with ‘em, they cut out your eyes.”

Huh. “Is that very effective?” she asked, eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “I mean, that’s a bit of an awkward angle, isn’t it?” Flora groaned, flopping onto a stool besides her, propping her elbows on the counter and resting her forehead in her hands. Eleanor rubbed her back. She seemed to do this quite a lot when Eleanor was around.

Her next words came out muffled by her palms. “The Blinders ain’t no joke, Ella. They set fire to The Marquis for messin’ with one of theirs. Their enemies get found in The Cut without their faces.” Her voice became very quiet, near trembling. Almost tearful. “You shoulda never spoken to Mr. Shelby like that.”

Despite her best efforts, Eleanor felt a shiver run through her. Only she could be stupid enough to meet a devil and reach out to shake his hand. With a smile, no less. Well, it was too late now. She leaned until her shoulder pressed into Flora’s own. “Hey,” she soothed. “Look at me, huh?” Eleanor tapped at the girl’s cheek with a nail until she peered up at her, eyes a bit puffy. “Relax, sweetheart. I doubt he’ll be back anytime soon. Not with the warm welcome I gave him.” And she smiled until Florence couldn’t help but smile back.

The second time Eleanor saw the devil of Small Heath, it was a week later. At Flora’s. And it would be the same as the first.

That damn bell chimed.

It was with relief that Eleanor noted Florence was out of the shop when a Mr. Thomas Shelby arrived for the second time, having been sent off by Cora to the gelateria with just enough money for scoop of her favorite, strawberry swirl. This time around, it was just her and Cora in the near silence of the shop, the record player in the back a mere whisper of jazz. Instead of being up to her elbows in damp soil, she had a paintbrush in her mouth and another clutched between her fingers and thumb, making a new display sign with some thick paper and her tin of watercolors. A sketch of Flora, blowing petals out of the palm of her hand. It was as she was halfway through mixing a color for the shadows of her face that the front door opened. At her side, using twine to bind their loose flowers for the paint buckets, Cora gave a sharp intake of breath.

“Mr. Shelby,” the older woman greeted, hurrying to stand. A strong-featured woman of near fifty, Cora Evans wasn’t one to show fear, or much emotion at all beyond a muted amusement at her surroundings. This sort of “why the hell not?” air of being that she'd clearly perfected over her years. Yet, while her own blue eyes were unwavering on Thomas’ own, Eleanor detected the tense line of her broad shoulders, hiked nearly up to her ears and tickling the grey-brown of her hair. Thomas inclined his head at her boss, and if he looked her way, Eleanor didn’t see it, because she had already turned back to her work, watering down a vermilion for the high spots of color on Flora’s youthful cheeks.

If she didn’t look at him, maybe she wouldn’t be compelled by whatever urge had struck her before—a sudden desire to pick at and tease, to wrestle up a smile on that pretty mouth.

Eleanor shook her head, a minuscule gesture, and huffed a curl out of her eyes. Get it together.

“’Ow may I ‘elp you, sir?” And Cora’s voice was polite, restrained, the normal warmth in her Brummie accent stripped into something foreign to Eleanor. “On the ‘ouse, of course.” At that, she felt her lips pinch despite herself.

While Cora hadn’t been upset when her granddaughter had finally told her the story of Eleanor back-talking to a Peaky Blinder, she had gone a bit pale, setting down the pot in her hands with a heavy clunk on their scraped-up work table. Staring at Eleanor with new eyes. “Pretty fuckin’ stupid of you, love,” she’d said. “They’ve set fire to businesses for less.” And she’d shaken her head. “Messin’ with that Blinder Devil—thought you had some wits about you.” In the end, though, Cora shooed her off when she hastened to spill out apologies, holding out a hand to pat her on her shoulder.

“That Thomas Shelby is more sensible than most of ‘em put together. Not like his mad dog brother. It’ll work out for the best, I bet.”

But now he was back yet again, in a suit lighter than the one before, a pale grey waistcoat with no jacket in sight. His tie was missing, she could tell even from where she hunched over her work, the top button of his dress-shirt undone at the throat. Still looking unbearably hot for the weather. Even the thin material of her house dress clung to her skin with the sweat of being trapped in the shop all day. She didn’t know how he bore it.

“No need,” he said in that already familiar rasp, and she ducked her head further down instead of looking up and catching a glimpse of his face like she wanted. “Found myself in need of another bouquet.” And she could hear the amusement in his voice. “Eleanor. If you would.”

The empty space to the upper right of her drawing distracted her. Should she fill it with roses? Lilies? There was a pause that could be felt hanging in the shop, like a physical touch against her skin, but she kept her gaze to that expanse of untouched white.

“Eleanor,” Cora said, touching gentle fingers to the bared skin of her upper arm. She very rarely wore short sleeves, but with the heat, it felt unavoidable. The circular burns that peppered her arms like kisses—they weren’t even that noticeable, not anymore. Still.

(On another August day, one from over a decade ago, she recalled the press and hiss of the cigarette when it hit her skin, and the way the mud never dried in that miserable backyard back in New York. Before her uncle came and packed her off to London. The backs of her knees were slippery with it as she squirmed and kicked. But the older girl kept a firm grip on her, and Eleanor stayed in place, sinking into the mud and dead, yellow grass. The cigarette was pulled back, still fizzling, and with the click of a lighter, was relit again. And again.)

Eleanor blinked. Blinked again and rubbed a hand over her eyes, eyes that felt much more tired than before. She pulled the paintbrush from her mouth, set it on the countertop. “Of course, I can make you another bouquet, Mr. Shelby. Anything in mind?”

She couldn’t see him, no, but she knew his eyes were smirking at her. Her fingers twitched on her remaining paintbrush. Smug bastard. “Oh, just something to brighten up me office, I think.” And Eleanor clenched her jaw, because that sounded like such shit to her. Why’re you here again, Thomas? She nodded nonetheless, kept her eyes down. You make it very hard to behave. She set down the brush with a clatter.

“I can do that.”

She searched for the most spiteful fucking flowers she could think of. Valerian, an herb frequently used for insomnia, green stems bloomed with clusters of white flowers. Readiness. I could take you, Mr. Shelby. Borage, or starflower, brilliant blue with hints of blush from the blooms with their white spines. Rudeness. Bluntness. And buttercups, their delicate yellow blossoms. A personal favorite and a good splash of color against all the blues and whites. Childishness. And, finally, Love-in-a-mist, or Nigella damascena, with their needle-point leaves and rich indigo petals ending in jagged points. A confession more than anything else, not that he’d know it. You puzzle me.

In her youth, she’d gobbled up all the books on plants and herbs that she could find in her botanically obsessed uncle’s extensive library, and that included tomes on the language of flowers. The knowledge had stuck. And now more than ever, she found herself grateful.

Eleanor plucked all the respective flowers out of their different buckets, organized by color, and set to work gathering the right amounts of each. She took a canary yellow ribbon from the ribbon pail with a flourish, flicking it in the air to get the kinks out. Grabbing a random empty vase that had once housed a beautiful but boring bouquet of a dozen roses—bought by a very frantic man in worker’s clothes and sturdy boots an hour prior, who looked like he was running quite late—she set the mass of flowers inside and set to arranging them.

Flora, who hid a chuckle with a cough at the sight of her flowers of choice, left with a quick word to the backroom and a warning glance that burned into the back of Eleanor’s head. She tried not to fidget.

She was wrapping the ribbon around the hunk of stems when a throat cleared from right by her side. Fuck. Eleanor started, spasming fingers losing the ability to form a bow. Fuck.

“What’s a rich socialite like yourself doing in a flower shop in Birmingham, eh?”

But, God, she couldn’t help but spin to face the man now. Thomas stood with his hip propped up against the table she was using, head tilted and pieces of the unshaved part of his hair near falling into his eyes. Seemed he recognized her now. He looked curious. Hungry. Up close as he was, their shoulders near brushing, she saw the hint of freckles beneath his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. It seemed even devils tanned in the sun.

Everything about him was all graceful command, words spoken in a way that showed he expected to be answered, obeyed.

It reminded her of his wife.

The first time she’d ever seen Mrs. Grace Shelby, it had been at a luncheon held at The Midland Hotel, for the sake of convincing the richest of London society to donate to her cause—the Shelby Foundation, whose first action was building an orphanage in Birmingham. When her uncle, Samuel Connolly, had told her the news, alongside the fact that he’d been invited to attend a luncheon on the subject, she’d begged to be brought along.

“If anyone would have a stake in this,” she’d said at their breakfast table, pointing at his chest with a grapefruit spoon, “it’s me, don’t you think? Let me see how genuine this is.” Sam had set his hazel eyes on hers, lips pursed, but he hadn’t disagreed.

“You’ll have to dress up,” he’d warned, and she’d stuck out her tongue at him, taking a stab at a section of fruit.

Eleanor remembered the way the beading of her dress weighted her down that afternoon, and how all she wanted was to be back home in a pair of trousers, lounging with a book in her lap and Fennel, Sam’s Spinone Italiano, laying on the tops of her bare feet. Keeping her warm. But the rich had an ability to do any good works as half-assed as possible, and with all of her blunt Brooklynite manners from childhood, she had sworn to dig out the truth from this Mrs. Grace Shelby even if it meant pulling out the plyers and using some old-fashioned elbow grease.

That hadn’t been necessary.

The waitress that escorted them both to the hotel’s largest dining room was a near-silent woman, who meekly commented on the pale jade color of Eleanor’s dress before showing them to a room with a table longer than she’d ever seen. A rich, dark-colored wood leaning near black. The napkins were a fashionable rose, the plates rimmed in gold and dotted in florals along the edges. All the candles smelled of faint vanilla and sandalwood.

Even for Eleanor, who had spent her teen years and beyond in Sam’s by-no-means-minuscule manor and had attended many a party due to his notoriety, it was extravagant beyond measure.

At the head of the table, not yet seated and chatting with a plastic but pretty smile on her painted lips, was a woman with honeyed hair and aristocratic, well-bred features. She radiated old wealth in a way Eleanor never could, brought into the fold far-too-late.

(“Oh my, it’s the little orphan bastard.” One of the wives of some business mogul whispered to her friends behind a glove. They all tittered away at her remark, and Eleanor, all awkward limbs and pale pink scars at fifteen years old, sunk back into the shadows of the sitting room. Uncomfortable in her new dress. Uncomfortable in her new life. “How quaint. It seems he really did pick up a new stray, after all.”)

Most of the night was a blur, filled with soft, exaggerated laughter and mutual back-patting. In the dining room, the lighting was dim, almost sensual despite it being only two in the afternoon. Flattering everything into a near dream-like state. At the front of the table, Mrs. Shelby had glowed. Almost an hour prior, her hand had been soft and unblemished in Eleanor’s own. Even her handshakes felt soft as silk. But when Eleanor had cornered her later in the evening over a round of drinks, her own whiskey-sour in a fine crystal glass that felt like a paperweight in her hand, she had revealed pure steel beneath the refined veneer. Eleanor could barely recall her barrage of questions now, from over a year ago.

“What of the orphans with surviving family? Will they be entitled to visitation? And the staff—what of them? Would they be receiving proper background checks prior to their employment?” It had gone on-and-on, and Grace Shelby had answered with assurance blanketing her tone, and a blade tucked beneath her tongue, ready to wield. Her eyes steady. Demanding trust. Eleanor had, though begrudgingly, given it. And promised to have more questions the next time they met. Mrs. Shelby had seemed, almost, like she was looking forward to it.

But, well, the second and last time she’d seen Grace Shelby. Well.

In the present, Eleanor zeroed back in on Thomas. He was studying her.

She knew the red of her lipstick must be smudged. That there was surely charcoal streaked on her face from using her pencils earlier in the day. That the nape of her neck was sticky with sweat, soaking the curls there.

Still, Eleanor arched her brow at who, apparently, was the most fearsome man in Birmingham. “I used the wrong fork,” she drawled. “Perilous mistake.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They locked eyes, and Eleanor wasn’t going to be the one to blink first. Without looking, she knotted the bow and pulled tight. “All done,” she said. She rambled off a price, perhaps one a little higher than necessary. She couldn’t help herself.

He blinked at her before reaching into his pocket for the money, and Eleanor let out a gust of air when his eyes left her. How were they so blue? Reaching under the table for some tissue paper to wrap the bouquet in, she offered it forward, gripping it by the bottom of the stems. His own fingers grasped it above her own and tugged it out of her hand. He was oddly gentle about it. “Have a nice day, Thomas,” she told him, a clear dismissal, and he quirked a brow at her in a barely-there question. Whether it was because of the curt tone or the usage of his first name—it had just slipped out, she didn’t know why—she wasn’t sure.

Either way, he left. And Eleanor slumped, boneless, against the countertop. What the honest fuck.

Now, she knew better than to believe this would be the last time they saw each other.

And true enough, they met yet again. This time at no fault of their own.

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yvghv · 3 years

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mrshenrycavill23 · 4 years

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A Dream To Remember✨

#1 Destiny

“This is the view I’d die for” I said as I saw the beautiful beach that I could see when I opened my window. I had been to Antalya before but this time it hit different. I was a teenager back then, and so much had changed over the years. I got a full time job in a reputable firm, moved out of my city, and spent 5 years in Zurich working for the firm I had always wanted to. But I was always alone, mainly because of my brutal experiences with love and relationships in late teens and early twenties.

And also because I never really found someone that would make my heart melt, I always partly blame my fangirl period for that when I used to be a social media ‘stan’ for Henry Cavill, now that I think of it, never really found anyone like him and now I’m just void of it all. I’m used to living alone now. I really was never into flings. My only focus is my career, and travelling.

“Can you stop staring out of your window (y/n)? We didn’t come here to stay in the hotel!! We should be out there enjoying the views and turkish food!! Get ready, we’re leaving in 5 mins!” shouted Zara, accompanied by Sierra who were my friends and colleagues from Zurich, and my only companions for the trip.

Antalya has its own magic. Beautiful beaches, waterfalls, and oh the food! Food is to die for. It was just our second day, and because I was more into food than shopping, we chose one of the most expensive restaurants in all of Antalya , and decided to go there. It was the closest restaurant to the beach. We went inside and oh the aroma! The people were the elite class of Turkish society, the clatter of knives and spoons and fine dining. We three were dressed pretty casually, I was wearing a simple dress which looked quite the black sheep in the restaurant, but fortunately people were so busy in their conversations that no one noticed our ‘tourist’ kind of clothing. We quickly settled at a corner table, and were given menus by the waiters. While Zara and Sierra were having difficulty reading names of Turkish cuisines, I was looking around the fine interior of the restaurant. Just as I was about to lower down my gaze I saw something. I was startled. I felt like my heartbeat stopped. I could not process what I saw, or specifically, who I saw.

An incredibly handsome man, all muscular, wearing a cap and a fitted t-shirt with jeans, sitting alone at a table just behind ours. He was looking down at the menu card, and I again caught a quick glance at him to reassure myself if he was who I thought he is. Yes, it was Henry Cavill. The Henry Cavill.

Henry Cavill, who after recently completing the critically acclaimed and much loved The Witcher Netflix series and after doing three films of the worldwide famous James Bond series, was on a break. For more than a year, he was out of the spotlight for reasons unknown. All of these thoughts, all of those times when I used to fangirl over him on Twitter and other platforms, all the times I had always wished to see him went through my mind. But now I was a changed person, my life was no longer the same, and here I was feeling so strongly for this man. Zara suddenly looked at me and said, “Hey, are you ok? Your face is all red and you’re sweating. What’s wrong?” I didn’t know what to say, both of them weren’t much aware of Hollywood actors. So I said, “It’s... it’s Henry.. it’s Henry Cavill.. right behind our table” They looked at his table and Sierra instantly recognised him, “Oh he’s the new Bond, my sister loves this guy! Let’s go ask for a picture” I nervously replied, “NO, wait, maybe he doesn’t want any fans near him, i mean he’s sitting alone..”

“Oh come on, a picture won’t hurt, get up let’s go” said Sierra.

I tried to calm myself thinking it’s just a picture, and I can gather the courage to ask him for that without freaking out, I’m a 26 year old independent woman for God’s sake it’s not a big deal! So Sierra and I went to his table, and she instantly said “Hey! Henry Cavill?” He looked up, oh God his ocean eyes, I could not look directly at him but when I did I lost all my focus, but quickly tried to be composed again. “My sister is a huge fan of yours, can I take a picture with you Mr Bond?” Sierra said while smiling. He looked at her with a very heartwarming smile and said “Ofcourse, go ahead” She instantly took a selfie with him, thanked him and went straight back to our table leaving me alone.

It was just me now. Standing right beside him, while he was looking at me with his questioning eyes. “You want a picture too?” And I nervously said, “I don’t know if a picture can do justice to how much I have loved your work over the years”. He went silent for a few seconds, staring at me, and the way I responded to him. “So you’re not a new or seasonal fan? ah i see” he smiled. “Well, a picture won’t hurt, and it would act as a memory to relive this moment, so can I have one too?” I said, with a bit more confidence.

He gestured to take my phone and as I opened its camera, he himself took a selfie with me.

I thanked him, trying to keep my calm turned my back and started to walk away when he said, “Would you like to join me, if you and your friends don’t mind?” I instantly froze. I didn’t know what to say, I turned again and looked again in his deep blue eyes. Whenever I looked at him directly I felt so intimidated. I had no courage to even say anything other than “Yes, sure”. Sierra and Zara looked at me, laughed and gave a reassuring nod.

I sat down opposite him, and was smiling with nervousness and happiness. A kind of happiness I had never felt in my entire life.

“So, what do you want to eat? I’m thinking of these kebabs.” The ups and downs of my hormones had made me lose my appetite. I wasn’t hungry anymore. “Oh I’ve already eaten, one turkish coffee would be fine” I lied. He smirked and called the waiter, and ordered the food. All this time I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, his face, jawline, curls below his cap, and his fitted shirt, oh God why does he have to wear such fitted clothes. His arms. All of this was seductive, as if his voice alone wasn’t enough. “So, what is you name? And what are you doing here in Antalya?” I told him about my work trip and that I’m from Zurich. “Why are you here in Antalya of all places? You’ve been out of the spotlight for several months, so are you on a long vacation?” I fearfully asked as I knew I was getting personal.

In a very laid back and calm voice he answered, “I wanted a break. After doing my dream project, the witcher and finally getting to do Bond, I still felt incomplete. My life was being consumed by my work mostly. Half of the year I used to film for witcher and the other for Bond. I needed a break. So i went on a trip, alone. I traveled all of Europe, and Turkey is my last destination”

“So you’ve been alone all this time? If you dont mind me asking, why? For a man like you, it must be so easy to get women all around you. Why haven’t you found someone?” I knew I was getting too personal but all those early years of loving him and being obsessed with him started to hit me again. I had so many questions and such little time. I wanted to know so much but had so many restrictions.

He looked at me, with a firm face this time. He kind of looked low, and upset. I felt sorry that I had invaded his personal space. “Uh, I’m so sorry Henry. I know I asked a bit too much.” I was embarrassed when he casually put his hand over mine and reassured me saying, “Ah no (Y/N), I just didn’t know how to respond to your questions, was kind of contemplating over how to answer you. Well all of my past relationships have taught me something or the other. And some of the women I met were only interested in my wealth and status, it’s rare to find a person who actually wants to understand you. My only dream was to start a family of my own, and to do that I need to find a person who’s willing to spend her life with me as much as I’m willing to do so.”

A pause followed. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him and he couldn’t stop looking at me. It was like I was falling deeper with every second. I felt like his eyes could rip my clothes and my body, and could see my soul right through.

“Sir, maam, your order’s here” said the waiter as he interrupted our deep silence.

“Oh I’m starving!” said Henry. Which made me realise that he’s probably not nervous at all, and why would he be? I’m just a fan who is inappropriately in love with him and he probably thinks I’m just someone who can give him friendly company over this dinner.

I drank my coffee while I constantly noticed him eating his dinner, his jaw and the way he held his knife and fork, his fingers. I was way into it when I realised he’s not mine to have, I’m a nobody, and he’s a star.

He asked for the bill, and while I insisted to pay his eyes intimidated me again and he paid for both of us. We both stood up to leave, when I tried to look at my previous table, Zara and Sierra had already left. I quickly checked my phone and Zara had already messaged me that they’re gone for shopping at the nearby market and I can join them there.

While i was putting my phone back in my bag, I felt a warm breath near my ear, “Turns out your friends left you alone with me, huh?” Henry whispered, standing so close to me I could feel his scent entering my body. I realised the height difference then. I was so short standing next to his towering body, I could only reach his chest. I instantly became shy and moved a bit away, “Ah no, they left me a message, they’re at nearby market, I better get going” I dont know why I said about going when all I ever wanted was to stay. “God, please make him ask me to stay, please” I thought as I zipped my bag. “Um, would you want to go to the beach with me?” A wave of excitement flushed through me. “Right now? It’s dark.” I said.

“So what? I couldn’t go during the day as I wanted to stay away from being recognised, darn it, have to wear this cap to stay away from all the paparazzi!” Henry explained.

I smiled, “Oh I see, sure let’s go. I haven’t seen Konyalti beach at night anyway”.

We both left together and as soon as we left the restaurant, the sea shore began. He took off his shoes instantly, and started walking bare foot. “What? You’re not going to feel the sand? the moist sand, the smell of the beach. Reminds me of my childhood days in Jersey” he smiled as I looked at his feet. “You’re not going to take off your sandals?” He asked.

“Ah i dont want to get my feet dirty, we spent the entire day at the beach already!” I exclaimed. He instantly stared at me, sat on his knees, while I wasn’t able to understand what’s going on, he immediately untied my sandals and took them off my feet. “HENRY!?? oh my God, what even?” I shouted while laughing.

“What’s the point of walking on the beach with shoes on?” He remarked.

We walked along the beach. The moonlight reflected on the waves as they hit the shore. The sound of waves crashing, gave me the peace I was longing for. But maybe it wasn’t just that, it was him, his breathtaking presence, walking beside me, silently. The silence interrupted by our casual conversations about each other’s childhood, about how we wished our lives were a bit different, about the risks that we took to become what we were today in our respective fields. As we reached the end of the shoreline, the market began where Zara and Sierra had asked me to meet.

“This is the market, we’ve been passing through it since the past two days but never really got time to visit. So that’s why we had planned to go right now” I explained to Henry.

He moved closer to me and slowly moved his hand towards mine, and held it. His fingers with mine, I felt a rush of feelings inside me. It was as if my body didn’t know how to react. I was stunned. “Don’t leave, not yet. Do you.. maybe, do you want to have a drink with me? or maybe walk me back to my hotel?” Henry said.

His eyes, those mesmerising eyes. I had no right to say no. And why would I? I could die to spend more time with him.

“Um, yeah..I guess” I said, nervously.

We walked towards his hotel which was just five minutes away from the beach. He was holding my hand all along, and I did not and could not ruin this moment. I simply wanted to lose control, when the insecurities inside me kept telling me that I wasn’t worth any of his affection, I still wanted to lose my senses.

We went inside his hotel, the receptionist welcomed him, and we both straight went to his room. His room was a deluxe suite, felt like a room of a Mediterranean Palace. It smelled of his scent, that strong seductive scent which felt like it could rip right through my clothes and caress my soul. He let go of my hand as soon we entered his room.

“So this is where I’ve been living since the past two weeks.” Henry said, as he locked the door.

“Wow, two weeks here? We barely have four days left of our trip here” He stopped and gave me a worried look.

I was looking at his clothes all piled up on a sofa chair where I was about to make my place to sit, when Henry came from behind and strongly held my hand, turned my face towards him and pushed me against the wall. “Henry..?” I said as a whisper.

He said, “ Shh, four more days only?” He said as he moved his face closer to mine. I was almost shivering. He pushed himself against me, gently, as he slowly moved his hand and touched my face. He stared directly into my eyes, and I let myself lose control.

He slowly kissed me, as his lips unfolded mine. His tongue touched mine. It was like fire. It was like fire raging through my entire body. He was so passionate, so gentle yet so intimidating.

I could feel him getting hard. I was wet just by him kissing me.

He slowly untied my dress, while I ripped off his shirt. I couldn’t control myself any longer. I had saved myself for someone special all of my life, and this was it. This was like a dream come true. He picked me up, and gently pushed me on the bed, everything was happening like house on fire. His body, so heavy and dominating, over mine felt like I was being caressed and touched through every part of my existence. He now moved his lips from my lips towards my neck. I moaned and scratched his back, while I wrapped my legs around him, I couldn’t resist any longer. I wanted him inside me. I wanted him to take me.

He instantly went straight down as he undid my lingerie. I felt invaded, but this was invited invasion. I ran my fingers through his beautiful curly hair as he indulged his face down. His tongue worked like an artist’s paintbrush on a painting. Everytime his tongue touched my clit, I’d moan louder and he’d put his hand over my mouth. He suddenly pushed his tongue inside me, when he realised it. He kissed my belly, and then sucked my nipples for so long there was spit all over my breasts. There was a wine bottle beside the bed, he looked over grabbed it and poured wine over me. I moaned louder while I was barely in my senses, when he pushed himself over me and whispered in my ears “You sure you want this? You want me to take it?” I could not have explained to him how much I wanted this, how much I wanted him to fuck me hard. “Fuck me, Henry. Please” I said. I could feel his temperature as he rubbed his dick down on me. I could feel the thickness, the veins, the touch. He was most certainly a giver.

“I wont let it hurt you, (y/n)” He kissed me hard as he slowly pushed it inside me. It hurt me but the sensations overtook me. I couldn’t feel any pain. It felt like I was not in my senses anymore.

His heavy muscular body over me, as he grinded deeper, he moaned. It was at that moment when I came hard. I could not resist his moans. He was noisy, and the moans made me weak, my legs shivered, and he kept fucking me hard. I whispered “I am coming, baby” He moaned, and fucked deeper, as he let himself lose on me, he came while he kissed me, I felt every bit of him coming inside me. It made me come even more. We were both wet and sweating. As we finished, he pushed his eyes over my neck while I ran my fingers through his curls.

It was unusual. It felt like he had been resisting something for so long and as if he’s finally free. He kissed my forehead, and then again he pushed his face below my neck, as if trying to hide from the world. I hugged him tightly as I took the quilt at the side of the bed and covered us both. We were together, our bodies tangled with each other’s, and we were hidden. Hidden from the world. We slept, and slept for so long and neither of us had kept of track of time.

I woke up as sun’s rays ripped inside through the window and pushed away curtains. I woke up and look at Henry. He was truly created by God when He had decided to pour in all the beauty and perfection. His eyelashes, his beautiful face, his curls on his forehead, I felt so blessed. To wake up next to him, and not just next to him, he was in the exact position he slept in. His head on my chest. I kissed his forehead, and ran my fingers through his curls. He opened his eyes, still sleepy. “(Y/N) ? You didn’t leave?” He asked me.

“I’d never leave you, Henry.” I said. Not knowing if what I said is appropriate or not.

“Wait what time is it!?” I asked as I tried to find my phone, which was on the side of our bed. 23 missed calls and messages from Zara and Sierra. I forgot to tell them that I won’t be coming to the market. Damn it.

“What happened? Is everything okay?” Henry asked, as he sat up on the bed, trying to find something to wear. “I forgot to inform my friends last night, they must be so worried” I said in a confusing tone. As I was still on a sex hungover state of mind.

I got up and changed while he did the same.

“You must be hungry, dont say no!?” He said.

I was worried about my friends. I had to talk to them and explain everything. “But Henry, I have to go now, I have to tell them where I was” I worriedly said.

“I’ll go with you” he said, with his signature smirk and that eyebrow lift.

We both left the hotel, took a cab and asked the driver to take us to my hotel. Meanwhile I called my friends and said I was with Henry and we went to watch a movie and kind of spent the night walking on the beach to see the sunrise and now I was going to for shopping alone. I knew it was a lame excuse but I had no other scenario to tell them. Henry asked the cab driver to stop. “What? Why here?” I asked, confused.

“Now that you’ve lied to your friends already, why not have breakfast with me atleast?” He said innocently. I was amused and I smiled.

This guy, who’s literally loved by millions of people around the world, is right here with me, there’s nothing in the world that can actually be more important to me than spending as much time with him as I can. But was I really worth it all? My insecurities started to kick again, as he suddenly held my hand. I wonder how he realises the correct moment to hold my hand. As if he has known me all along and when I need reassurance. His eyes looked beautiful, as usual, but in the daylight I could notice the colour of his eyes. One different as the other, it’s like God wanted to be more creative with colours.

Part 2 - Tangled ✨

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